James spoke quickly, to bridge any embarrassment.  “This is a dreadful thing about Uncle James.  I’ve never been so shocked before in my life.  The crime was absolutely fiendish.”

Kirby nodded.  “Or else the deed of some insane person.  Men in their right senses don’t do such things.”

“No,” agreed James.  “Murder’s one thing.  Such coldblooded deviltry is quite another.  There may be insanity connected with it.  But one thing is sure.  I’ll not rest till the villain’s run to earth and punished.”

His eyes met those of his cousin.  They were cold and bleak.

“Do you think I did it?” asked Kirby quietly.

The directness of the question took James aback.  After the fraction of a second’s hesitation he spoke.  “If I did I wouldn’t be going to lunch with you.”

Jack cut in.  Excitement had banished his usual almost insolent indolence.  His dark eyes burned with a consuming fire.  “Let’s put our cards on the table.  We think you’re the man the police are looking for—­the one described in the papers.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You told us you were going to see him as soon as he got back from the Springs.  The description fits you to a T. You can’t get away with an alibi so far as I’m concerned.”

“All right,” said the rough rider, his low, even voice unruffled by excitement.  “If I can’t, I can’t.  We’ll say I’m the man who came down the fire escape.  What then?”

James was watching his cousin steadily.  The pupils of his eyes narrowed.  He took the answer out of his brother’s mouth.  “Then we think you probably know something about this mystery that you’ll want to tell us.  You must have been on the spot very soon after the murderer escaped.  Perhaps you saw him.”

Kirby told the story of his night’s adventure, omitting any reference whatever to Wild Rose or to anybody else in the apartment when he entered.

After he had finished, James made his comment.  “You’ve been very frank, Kirby.  I accept your story.  A guilty man would have denied being in the apartment, or he would have left town and disappeared.”

The range rider smiled sardonically.  “I’m not so sure of that.  You’ve got the goods on me.  I can’t deny I’m the man the police are lookin’ for.  Mrs. Hull would identify me.  So would this reporter Ellis.  All you would have to do would be to hand my name to the nearest officer.  An’ I can’t run away without confessin’ guilt.  Even if I had killed Uncle James, I couldn’t do much else except tell some story like the one I’ve told you.”

“It wouldn’t go far in a court-room,” Jack said.

“Not far,” admitted Kirby.  “By the way, you haven’t expressed an opinion, Jack.  Do you think I shot Uncle James?”