“Is that all?” asked Hopkins.
“Yes, that is all.” His eyes shifted as he said it.
“You have nothing else to tell us?”
He hesitated.
“No, there is nothing.”
“You have not been here before last night?”
“No.
“Then how do you account for that?” cried Hopkins, as he held up the damning notebook, with the initials of our prisoner on the first leaf and the blood-stain on the cover.
The wretched man collapsed. He sank his face in his hands, and trembled all over.
“Where did you get it?” he groaned. “I did not know. I thought I had lost it at the hotel.”