Fleming Stone went alone to his interview with Winston Barnard. He found the young man willing to talk, but hopelessly dejected.
"There's no use, Mr. Stone," he said, after some roundabout conversation, "I'll be railroaded through. I didn't kill my aunt, but the circumstantial evidence is so desperately strong against me that nobody will believe me innocent. They can't prove it, because they can't find out how I got in, or rather out, but as there's nobody else to suspect, they'll stick to me."
"How did you get out?"
"Not being in, I didn't get out at all."
"I mean when you were there in the morning!"
Winston Bannard turned white and bestowed on his interlocutor a glance of utter despair.
"For Heaven's sake!" he exclaimed, "you've been in Berrien less than two days, and you've got that, have you?"
"I have, Mr. Bannard, and before we go further, let me say that I am your friend, and that I do not think you are guilty of murder or of theft."
"Thank you, Mr. Stone," and Bannard interrupted him to grasp his hand. "That's the first word of cheer I've had! My lawyer is a half-hearted champion, because he believes in his soul that I did it!"
"Have you told him the whole truth?"