“I begin to think Barry’s the guilty man, though up to now, I had quite another suspicion.”
“A definite one? A person?”
“Yes, decidedly so. And I’ve no reason to give up my suspicion—except that Barry has loomed up more prominently than my suspect.”
“Speak out—who’s your man?”
“Yes, Mr Lane, tell us,” Phyllis urged.
“No; not at present. It’s some one whose name has not even been breathed in connection with the case, and if I suspect him wrongly it would be a fearful thing to say so.”
“All right, if that’s the way of it, better keep it quiet.” Pollard nodded his head. “Been all through Gleason’s papers?”
“Yes; and I can’t find any letters from any one out West or anywhere else who would seem a likely suspect. No old time feuds, or present-day quarrels. If we except Barry.”
“And me.”
“You haven’t a quarrel with him, Pollard—or had you?”