"You hated him because he was a traitor like yourself. You hated him because he had hurt the Baas."
"That is true altogether, but—"
"You need not explain. If any one killed Mr. Fellowes, why not you? You came and went from his rooms, too."
Krool's face was now yellowish pale. "Not me ... it was not me."
"You would run a worse chance than any one. Your character would damn you—a partner with him in crime. What jury in the world but would convict you on your own evidence? Besides, you knew—"
He paused to deliver a blow on the barest chance. It was an insidious challenge which, if it failed, might do more harm to others, might do great harm, but he plunged. "You knew about the needle."
Krool was cowed and silent. On a venture Stafford had struck straight home.
"You knew that Mr. Fellowes had stolen the needle from Mr. Mappin at Glencader," he added.
"How you know that?" asked Krool, in a husky, ragged voice.
"I saw him steal it—and you?"