"To myself?"
Having shown his surprise, or, possibly, his alarm, by the repetition of the other's words, Craik Mansell paused and looked slowly around the room until he encountered Mr. Byrd's eye. There was a steady compassion in the look he met there that seemed to strike him with great force, for he at once replied that he was away from home, and stopped—his glance still fixed upon Mr. Byrd, as if, by the very power of his gaze, he would force the secrets of that detective's soul to the surface.
"Mr. Mansell," pursued the District Attorney, "a distinct avowal on your part of the place where you were at that time, would be best for us both, I am sure."
"Do you not already know?" inquired the other, his eye still upon Horace Byrd.
"We have reason to think you were in this town," averred Mr. Ferris, with an emphasis calculated to recall the attention of his visitor to himself.
"And may I ask," Craik Mansell quietly said, "what reason you can have for such a supposition? No one could have seen me here, for, till to-day I have not entered the streets of this place since my visit to my aunt three months ago."
"It was not necessary to enter the streets of this town to effect a visit to Mrs. Clemmens' house, Mr. Mansell."
"No?"
There was the faintest hint of emotion in the intonation he gave to that one word, but it vanished before he spoke his next sentence.
"And how," asked he, "can a person pass from Sibley Station to the door of my aunt's house without going through the streets?"