Granice swung round in his chair.  “Why, man alive!  That’s why I’m here now.  Because it was you who spoke for me at the inquest, when they looked round to see what all the old man’s heirs had been doing that night—­you who testified to having dropped in and found me at my desk as usual. ...  I thought that would appeal to your journalistic sense if nothing else would!”

Denver smiled.  “Oh, my journalistic sense is still susceptible enough—­and the idea’s picturesque, I grant you:  asking the man who proved your alibi to establish your guilt.”

“That’s it—­that’s it!” Granice’s laugh had a ring of triumph.

“Well, but how about the other chap’s testimony—­I mean that young doctor:  what was his name?  Ned Ranney.  Don’t you remember my testifying that I’d met him at the elevated station, and told him I was on my way to smoke a pipe with you, and his saying:  ’All right; you’ll find him in.  I passed the house two hours ago, and saw his shadow against the blind, as usual.’  And the lady with the toothache in the flat across the way:  she corroborated his statement, you remember.”

“Yes; I remember.”

Well, then?”

“Simple enough.  Before starting I rigged up a kind of mannikin with old coats and a cushion—­something to cast a shadow on the blind.  All you fellows were used to seeing my shadow there in the small hours—­I counted on that, and knew you’d take any vague outline as mine.”

“Simple enough, as you say.  But the woman with the toothache saw the shadow move—­you remember she said she saw you sink forward, as if you’d fallen asleep.”

“Yes; and she was right.  It did move.  I suppose some extra-heavy dray must have jolted by the flimsy building—­at any rate, something gave my mannikin a jar, and when I came back he had sunk forward, half over the table.”

There was a long silence between the two men.  Granice, with a throbbing heart, watched Denver refill his pipe.  The editor, at any rate, did not sneer and flout him.  After all, journalism gave a deeper insight than the law into the fantastic possibilities of life, prepared one better to allow for the incalculableness of human impulses.

“Well?” Granice faltered out.

Denver stood up with a shrug.  “Look here, man—­what’s wrong with you?  Make a clean breast of it!  Nerves gone to smash?  I’d like to take you to see a chap I know—­an ex-prize-fighter—­who’s a wonder at pulling fellows in your state out of their hole—­”

“Oh, oh—­” Granice broke in.  He stood up also, and the two men eyed each other.  “You don’t believe me, then?”

“This yarn—­how can I?  There wasn’t a flaw in your alibi.”

“But haven’t I filled it full of them now?”

Denver shook his head.  “I might think so if I hadn’t happened to know that you wanted to.  There’s the hitch, don’t you see?”

Granice groaned.  “No, I didn’t.  You mean my wanting to be found guilty—?”