e sudden pallor that came to his face showed
how the idea affected him.

"Oh, not that,--hardly that----"

"Yes, it's imminent." Crane thought best to tell him this. "They--they
say they've got the goods on you, Mac."

"What--what do you mean by that?"

"Well," Crane couldn't bring himself to tell of the poison bottle,
"well, my boy, they say that you and Blair quarreled."

"We did."

"Over the sketches for the prizes?"

"Yes, over those, and over other matters."

"When was this?"

"We'd been scrapping off and on for some time. Nothing very serious.
But,--well, when Gilbert implied that I had used his ideas, I--I got
mad."

"And saw red?"

"Yes, I suppose that's what they call it."

"The night he--he died?"

"Yes."

"Mac," Benjamin Crane looked grave, "suppose you tell me just what
happened that night."

"Well,--we'd all been to the Club to dinner, you know."

"Yes."

"And when we went home, Bob Knight went with us. He was irritating,
somehow,--said he heard Blair and I had combined on our work----"

"Why was that annoying?"

"Oh, it implied that Gilbert and I took each other's ideas, or
something,-- I don't know,--anyway, he stirred us up, and when he went
off, Gil and I were touchy. We had some words, and Blair tore up his
sketches, a-and--tore up some of mine, too."

"He did! No wonder you were annoyed."

"Yes; they were the ones I had ready,--or, almost ready, to send in."

"Go on," said Crane, briefly.

"Well, there's little more to tell. I went into my bedroom and slammed
the door. Yes, I slammed it, for I had lost my temper, and I was mad at
Blair."

"And then?"

"I don't know anything more to tell. I heard Blair around the studio for
a time, and once I heard his footsteps near my door, as if he wanted to
speak to me,--maybe make up,--but he didn't say anything or knock, or
call out,--and then, after a time I heard him go into his own bedroom
and close the door."

"And you heard nothing through the night?"

"Nothing unusual. The ordinary sounds in the building, of course."

"And you stayed in your room,--in your bed,--till morning?"

"Yes, I did. I sleep very soundly, and I sleep late. The details of the
morning, and my finding of Blair,--you know. Don't ask me to recount
all that again."

"No; I shan't. Are you going on with your work for the competition?"

"Of course!" Thorpe's face showed surprise at the question. "Why should
I not? I rescued the torn sketches from t