“No way, sir,” assented Kelly.
“Then this girl was murdered by either you, Kelly, or by Mr Granniss. Those marks on her throat of a strangling hold, were made by a man,—and by a strong man. Either of you two could have done it,—now, which one did?”
“Not I, sir,” Kelly denied, as calmly as if he were merely refuting a slight accusation. “I know nothing about it.”
“I don’t believe you do,” said Potter, judicially, “but I do think you’re implicated, Mr Granniss. Were you in your room all night?”
“Of course I was. I retired about one o’clock, and I didn’t open my door again until I was summoned this morning to learn of Martha’s death.”
“You say that glibly enough,—but it will take some proof.”
“No; your denial of it, or suspicion of my veracity will take the proof. Can you produce it?”
“You’re not wise to be so cocksure, sir. There is such a thing as elimination, and I say that only you could have done this thing. The women are not capable of such a deed, and I’ve no reason to suspect Kelly.”
“And just what is your reason for suspecting me?” Rodney’s eyes were beginning to grow stern and his jaw set firmly. “Also, what evidence have you for your suspicions?”
“Come off, Potter,” Bill Dunn warned him. “You ain’t got no real evidence against Mr Granniss, and you’d better go easy. To my mind, Mr Granniss ain’t going to kill a servant girl without a good reason.”