"Yes, Mr. Rush, I do. It is to my mind the one logical explanation—"
"You mean the logical fictional—"
"I'm no writer of detective stories—"
"Just like a novel then?"
"Ah! That I admit. The great novel is a logical transcript of life. The incidents rise out of the characters, react upon them, are as inevitable as the personal endowments, peculiarities, and contradictions. Understand your characters, and you can't go wrong."
"You are the cleverest young woman I ever met. For that reason I feel convinced you need no such adventitious aid as confession from a murderer. You will work it out—your premises being dead right—far better by yourself. It's the contradictions you mentioned I am thinking of, both in life and character."
"You are laughing at me. It's no laughing matter!"
"By God, it isn't. But you couldn't expect me to plump out a confession like that without taking a night to think it over."
"If you don't tell me, I warn you I'll find out for myself. And then I'll give it to my newspaper. To begin with, I'll find out if you really did see any one in Brooklyn that Saturday night. I'll discover the name of everybody you know in Brooklyn."
"That's a large order. I fear the case will be over."