“You have plenty of nerve, Crull,” said the old man, with a tone of admiration. “You are the man I have needed for a long time. If I had had you that last time — well, let’s talk about this. You believe it was necessary to finish Griffith?”
In reply, the murderer drew a sheet of paper from his pocket. He spread it on the table and fitted a tiny corner into it.
“Here’s your precious document,” he said. “Jarnow had a grip on it. The corner came off.”
“You picked up the missing corner?”
“Yes — the next day! Who do you think had it?”
“Who?”
“Griffith!”
The old man’s lips became firm.
“You did the right thing, Crull,” he said. “That has the end of the signature on it. Do you think Griffith knew what it was?”
“If he didn’t, he would have found out. He was a wise one, all right. But close-mouthed. Whatever theory he had, died with him. The dumb cluck that was on the case fell for the idea that Henry Windsor killed Jarnow. So we’re safe now.”