"I was afraid you might be so uncivil as to desert me. I shall not try to take anything away with me but a bit of your writing. You're a good penman, Agnew, and I shall want a sample, after we've had a friendly chat."
The cold sweat came out on Agnew's brow.
"I don't intend to beat about the bush at all. It is not needed. You know what I think of you, for I've given you abundant opportunity. Twice within my knowledge you have tried to murder me—once when you slipped a ball cartridge into Badger's musket in 'A Mountain Vendetta,' hoping and believing that I would be killed, and again on the grounds of the gun club, when you slipped some prepared shells into my box, thinking I would get hold of one of them, and that I would be killed by the explosion of my gun!"
Agnew's face grew as white as writing-paper. He opened his lips to reply, but Frank went on:
"Of course, you are ready to deny these things. But I have some proofs. You thought you could get all the 'fixed' shells when you knocked Rattleton over in the crowd, pretending you were shot. But one of them you failed to get. I have had its contents analyzed by one of the professors of chemistry, and he says that in place of powder, the shell contained a sort of gun-cotton, and that he does not see why the gun was not torn into splinters."
"This——"
"Just keep still, Agnew, until I am through! I have found the dealer of whom you purchased those shells, and I have found the dealer of whom you procured that gun-cotton!"
Again Agnew opened his mouth to protest. He had stopped pushing the cards about.
"Once you tried to ruin my right arm by injecting into it a preparation that would produce atrophy of the muscles. I can produce evidence of that, too!"
"It's a lie!" Agnew finally gasped. "There is not a word of truth in these accusations!"