“Not only that letter business, which is, to my mind very serious, but other things. Merely straws, perhaps, but they show the direction of the wind. Mrs Lindsay told me that Barry said he saw you, Pollard, to-day, down in the vicinity of the Gleason house. Then, Mrs Lindsay said, you came in here and said you had been at home all day.”
“So I have,” Pollard returned, staring at Lane.
“Well, here’s the funny thing. Only yesterday, Barry told me that he had seen you over in Brooklyn—”
“Brooklyn! I never go there!”
“Well, Barry said he saw you there. Now, it’s quite evident to me, Barry is lying, and it must be in some endeavor to get you mixed up in the Gleason matter.”
“It looks a little like that—but, how absurd! Why should he say he saw me in Brooklyn?”
“I don’t know. You weren’t there?”
“No; I almost never go to Brooklyn, and I certainly was not there yesterday. I haven’t been there for a year, at least!”
“I’m not quite on to Barry’s game, but there’s two cases where he falsified in the matter of seeing you. Now, why?”
“I say why, too. I can’t see any reason for the Brooklyn yarn. I suppose I can see a reason for his saying he saw me down in Washington Square, if he means to try to fasten the crime on me. But, the Brooklyn story I see no sense in. What do you think, Lane?”