�Granice!�
�I murdered him—to get his money, as you say.�
There was another pause, and Granice, with a vague underlying sense of amusement, saw his guest�s look change from pleasantry to apprehension.
�What�s the joke, my dear fellow? I fail to see.�
�It�s not a joke. It�s the truth. I murdered him.� He had spoken painfully at first, as if there were a knot in his throat; but each time he repeated the words he found they were easier to say.
Ascham laid down his extinct cigar.
�What�s the matter? Aren�t you well? What on earth are you driving at?�
�I�m perfectly well. But I murdered my cousin, Joseph Lenman, and I want it known that I murdered him.�
�You want it known?�
�Yes. That�s why I sent for you. I�m sick of living, and when I try to kill myself I funk it.� He spoke quite naturally now, as if the knot in his throat had been untied.