what
makes you ask these questions? Do you think that you recognise him?"

Strangeways rose up and paced the room, betraying his agitation, but
when he spoke his voice was level and restrained. "By God, I hope
not," he said.

Every moment Granger dreaded that he would hear him say that Mordaunt
was dead, and yet he wanted certainty. He watched Strangeways pacing
up and down, and longed to question him, yet was fearful that in so
doing he would betray his own secret. At last he could bear the
suspense no longer; that regular walking to and fro tortured him, it
was like the constant swinging of a pendulum and made him giddy to
look at. When he spoke, it was in a voice so shrill that it surprised
himself.

"Tell me once and for all," he cried, "has anything happened to him?
Is he dead?"

Strangeways halted, and regarded him with a look half-stern,
half-compassionate.

"As for Spurling, you hated him, did you not?" he inquired.

Granger clenched his hands and his voice trembled. "I hated him so
much," he said, "that there were times when I would gladly have struck
him dead."

"Then, why didn't you?"

Granger started; the question was spoken so fiercely, and was so
searching and direct. It aroused him to a sense of his danger, and
helped him to recover himself.

"In the first place you would have hanged me, and in the second there
was Mordaunt." As soon as he had said it, he knew that he had made a
slip.

"And why Mordaunt?"

He hesitated a minute, gathering himself together. He could feel the
scrutiny of Strangeways' eyes and was conscious that he was breathing
hard.

The question was repeated, "And why Mordaunt?"

"Because Mordaunt was such a clean fellow that I couldn't do anything
shabby in his presence," he said.

"How clean?" Strangeways persisted.

"Why, in every way; he was so honourable."

"But I thought you said just now that he always sided with Spurling
when it came to a dispute?"

"So he did in a sense. He never seemed to think that the thing we
quarrelled about was worth while, and treated it all with a well-bred
contempt. Spurling was usually the one who was unjust, and I the one
who complained; so I was usually the one to start the wrangle.
Therefore, though he despised Spurling, he always seemed to blame me
for my pettiness."

Strangeways turned on him his honest, manly gaze, as if he were about
to ask again, "Is that the truth?" But he did not say it. Granger felt
a cur for lyin