Jack looked at him, almost sullenly, and looked away.  He poked at the corner of the desk with the ferrule of his cane.  “I don’t know who shot him.  You had quarreled with him, and you went to have another row with him.  A cop told me that some one who knew how to tie ropes fastened the knots around his arms and throat.  You beat it from the room by the fire escape.  A jury would hang you high as Haman on that evidence.  Damn it, there’s a bad bruise on your chin wasn’t there when we saw you yesterday.  For all I know he may have done it before you put him out.”

“I struck against a corner in the darkness,” Kirby said.

“That’s what you say.  You’ve got to explain it somehow.  I think your story’s fishy, if you ask me.”

“Then you’d better call up the police,” suggested Lane.

“I didn’t say I was going to call the cops,” retorted Jack sulkily.

James looked at his cousin.  Kirby Lane was strong.  You could not deny his strength, audacious yet patient.  He was a forty-horsepower man with the smile of a boy.  Moreover, his face was a certificate of manhood.  It was a recommendation more effective than words.

“I think you’re wrong, Jack,” the older brother said.  “Kirby had no more to do with this than I had.”

“Thanks,” Kirby nodded.

“Let’s investigate this man Hull.  What Kirby says fits in with what you saw a couple of evenings ago, Jack.  I’m assuming he’s the same man Uncle flung downstairs.  Uncle told you he was a black-mailer. There’s one lead.  Let’s follow it.”

Reluctantly Kirby broached one angle of the subject that must be faced.  “What about this girl in Uncle’s office—­the one in trouble?  Are we goin’ to bring her into this?”

There was a moment’s silence.  Jack’s black eyes slid from Lane to his brother.  It struck Kirby that he was waiting tensely for the decision of James, though the reason for his anxiety was not apparent.

James gave the matter consideration, then spoke judicially.  “Better leave her out of it.  No need to smirch Uncle’s reputation unless it’s absolutely necessary.  We don’t want the newspapers gloating over any more scandals than they need.”

The cattleman breathed freer.  He had an odd feeling that Jack, too, was relieved.  Had the young man, after all, a warmer feeling for his dead uncle’s reputation than he had given him credit for?

As the three cousins stepped out of the Equitable Building to Stout Street a newsboy was calling an extra.

“A-l-l ’bout Cunn’n’ham myst’ry.  Huxtry!  Huxtry!”

Kirby bought a paper.  A streamer headline in red flashed at him.

  Horikawa; valet of Cunningham, disappears

The lead of the story below was to the effect that Cunningham had drawn two thousand dollars in large bills from the bank the day of his death.  Horikawa could not be found, and the police had a theory that he had killed and robbed his master for this money.