�Yes,� the editor nodded.
Granice gave a short laugh. �In my old coat—with my pipe: looked as if I�d been working all night, didn�t I? Well, I hadn�t been in my chair ten minutes!�
Denver uncrossed his legs and then crossed them again. �I didn�t know whether you remembered that.�
�What?�
�My coming in that particular night—or morning.�
Granice swung round in his chair. �Why, man alive! That�s why I�m here now. Because it was you who spoke for me at the inquest, when they looked round to see what all the old man�s heirs had been doing that night—you who testified to having dropped in and found me at my desk as usual.... I thought that would appeal to your journalistic sense if nothing else would!�
Denver smiled. �Oh, my journalistic sense is still susceptible enough—and the idea�s picturesque, I grant you: asking the man who proved your alibi to establish your guilt.�
�That�s it—that�s it!� Granice�s laugh had a ring of triumph.
�Well, but how about the other chap�s testimony—I mean that young doctor: what was his name? Ned Ranney. Don�t you remember my testifying that I�d met him at the elevated station, and told him I was on my way to smoke a pipe with you, and his saying: �All right; you�ll find him in. I passed the house two hours ago, and saw his shadow against the blind, as usual.� And the lady with the toothache in the flat across the way: she corroborated his statement, you remember.�
�Yes; I remember.�