“If you know so much, do you know how near to death you are?”
“That also I know,” said Angel’s even voice. “I’m all the more certain of my danger since I have seen your hat.”
The lawyer did not speak.
“I mean,” Angel went on calmly, “since I saw the hat that you put down on a dusty table in my chambers—when you murdered Connor.”
“Oh, you found him, did you—I wondered,” said Spedding without emotion. Then he heard a faint metallic click, and leapt back with his hand in his pocket.
But Jimmy’s pistol covered him.
He paused irresolutely for one moment; then six men flung themselves upon him, and he went to the ground fighting. Handcuffed, he rose, his nonchalant self, with the full measure of his failure apparent. He was once again the suave, smooth man of old. Indeed, he laughed as he faced Angel.
“A good end,” he said. “You are a much smarter man than I thought you were. What is the charge?”
“Murder,” said Angel.
“You will find a difficulty in proving it,” Spedding answered coolly, “and as it is customary at this stage of the proceedings for the accused to make a conventional statement, I formally declare that I have not seen Connor for two days.”