Trafford stopped as if he had finished his story, and McManus sat like one in a deep reverie. Suddenly, he looked up and asked:
“Where then are the papers which were the cause of this tragedy?”
“The man has not dared use them; he keeps them concealed until it is safe to sell them for the hundred thousand dollars which was offered for them.”
“My God! man, how do you know these things?” demanded McManus, his face ghastly as that of a week-old corpse.
“Do you dare deny one of them?” retorted Trafford.
“What do you mean by that?” asked the other.
“That you are the man who murdered Wing!”
CHAPTER XIX
The Last of the Papers
McMANUS had sprung to his feet as the accusation came from Trafford’s lips. His left hand was in the side pocket of his sack coat, and as Trafford also rose, there rang out the report of a pistol, fired without removing it from the pocket. The bullet just missed Trafford, cutting the sleeve of his coat.