"So Hawk Kennedy killed Ben Cameron!" he said.
"He did. I swear to God——"
"And then you cleared out with all the water, leaving Hawk to die. That was murder—cold-blooded murder——"
"My God, don't, Nichols!" the old man moaned. "If you only knew——"
"Well, then—tell me the truth."
Their glances met. Peter's was compelling. He had, when he chose, an air of command. And there was something else in Peter's look, inflexible as it was, that gave McGuire courage, an unalterable honesty which had been so far tried and not found wanting.
"You know—already," he stammered.
"Tell me your story," said Peter bluntly.
There was a long moment of hesitation, and then,
"Get me a drink, Nichols. I'll trust you. I've never told it to a living man. I'll tell—I'll tell it all. It may not be as bad as you think."