"Well, Maloney, I guess our work is done here. We want to get the prisoner over to the station, then make out a charge of murder, and prepare the full confession to submit to the magistrate. Have everything ready by nine o'clock. Meantime, I'll go down and see the newspaper boys. I guess there's a bunch of them down there. Of course, it's too late for the morning papers, but it's a bully good story for the afternoon editions. Delaney, you're responsible for the prisoner. Better handcuff him."
The patrolman was just putting the manacles on Howard's wrists when Dr. Bernstein reentered from the inner room. The captain turned.
"Well, have you seen your man?" he asked.
The doctor nodded.
"Found a bullet wound in his head," he said. "Flesh all burned—must have been pretty close range. It might have been a case of suicide."
Captain Clinton frowned. He didn't like suggestions of that kind after a confession which had cost him five hours' work to procure.
"Suicide?" he sneered. "Say, doctor, did you happen to notice what side of the head the wound was on?"
Dr. Bernstein reflected a moment.
"Ah, yes. Now I come to think of it, it was the left side."
"Precisely," sneered the captain. "I never heard of a suicide shooting himself in the left temple. Don't worry, doctor, it's murder, all right." Pointing with a jerk of his finger toward Howard, he added: "And we've got the man who did the job."