A wave of laughter drowned him out.
"Not so fast," Bill Brown cautioned him. "Kindly explain how Bella helped this man kill herself. Begin at the beginning."
"That night, before he turned in, Borg set his burglar alarm—"
"Burglar alarm?"
"That's what I called it,—a tin bread-pan attached to the latch so the door couldn't open without tumbling it down. He set it every night, as though he were afraid of what might happen,—the very thing which did happen, for that matter. On the night of the murder I awoke with the feeling that some one was moving around. The slush-lamp was burning low, and I saw Bella at the door. Borg was snoring; I could hear him plainly. Bella was taking down the bread-pan, and she exercised great care about it. Then she opened the door, and an Indian came in softly. He had no mask, and I should know him if ever I see him again, for a scar ran along the forehead and down over one eye."
"I suppose you sprang out of bed and gave the alarm?"
"No, I didn't," St. Vincent answered, with a defiant toss of the head, as though he might as well get the worst over with. "I just lay there and waited."
"What did you think?"
"That Bella was in collusion with the Indian, and that Borg was to be murdered. It came to me at once."
"And you did nothing?"