free of dangerous cliffs and fissures.

Occasionally Big Bob approached him with some question connected with
the night of the tragedy, but at first Fremont refused to talk on the
subject, well knowing that the big fellow would only criticize what he
said. After a time, however, Fremont decided that it might be to his
advantage to draw the fellow out, and the next time he came up he
asked, abruptly:

"What do you know of Nestor's movements that night?"

"Did I say that I knew anything of them?" was the astonished reply.

"When you thought you had captured Nestor you said you knew of every
move he made that night. Not my movements, but Nestor's."

"Don't get gay, now," growled the other. "I'll talk about that with
Nestor, when I find him. I'll talk about your movements with you.
There's plenty of proof that you did the job there."

"And you've got it, of course?" said Fremont, with a shrug of disbelief.

"Of course I've got it. The only thing I can't dope out is the motive
you had."

"You ought to be able to find that," sneered the boy. "Your
imagination seems to be working well to-day. Were you there that
night? If not, how does it come that you know so much about what
didn't take place?" he added, provokingly.

"You were seen to strike the blow," was the blustering reply.

"Where were you at that time?" asked Fremont, knowing, of course, that
the fellow was lying to him, and hoping to confuse him by the
abruptness of the question.

"That does not matter," was the reply. "It is known that you sneaked
into the building after the elevator stopped, and went up to the
Cameron suite. After stopping there for some moments, long enough to
create the disorder that existed there, you returned to the lower
floor. Then you started up, giving notice of your approach by
whistling."

Fremont could not repress a smile at the positive manner of the man as
he described a situation which was purely imaginary. Then, anxious to
learn what other untruths the fellow would relate, he asked:

"You know Jim Scoby, the night watchman, and Felix, the Mexican?"

"I know nothing of them," was the reply.

The two walked on side by side for some time in silence, the big fellow
turning now and then to look with disapproval at the smiling face of
the boy. Indeed, if the proof against him was no stronger than this,
the boy could well afford to smile, for lies in evidence discredit any
truth there may be on the side of the