"Well, unless I am greatly mistaken, you can do a great deal," Dallas replied. "That matter of the Delahay murder, you know. You remember what you told us at the inquest?"
"Yes, and every word of it was true," Stevens said tremulously. "If it is the last word I ever say, it was true."
"And I believe it," Dallas went on. "The only fault I find in your evidence is that you did not tell us enough. Why didn't you finish your story while you were about it?"
Stevens looked stealthily at his tormentor. He gulped his glass of liquor down hastily, for there was a queer dryness at the back of his throat that almost choked him.
"Come," Dallas said, with a quick and sudden sternness. "Speak out, or it will be all the worse for you. Tell us who it was who murdered Mr. Louis Delahay?"
[CHAPTER XLIII.]
THE WHOLE TRUTH.
Stevens stared helplessly at the speaker. He tried to speak, but his jaw dropped. He mumbled something that was quite impossible to understand. But, at the same time, he recognised the peril of his position. There was a ghastly green tinge on his face, his hand trembled. Dallas regarded him pleasantly enough. There was nothing harsh or stern in the detective's manner. His quiet air of assured triumph struck a greater terror into Stevens than any sternness would have done. The shabby little man wriggled about in his seat looking very much like a rat behind the bars of a cage.
"Take your time," Dallas said quietly. "You will find in the long run that it will pay you a great deal better to tell the truth."
"I have always told the truth," Stevens stammered.