An expression of consternation was in George Lerton's face, and Jim Farland was quick to notice it.
"Of course, I am glad for Sidney's sake," Lerton said. "But I had really believed that he had killed Shepley. It caused me a bit of trouble, too."
"How do you mean?" Farland asked.
"Shepley was a sort of client of mine," Lerton said. "I handled a deal for him now and then. He has been traveling on business for some time, as you perhaps know. I had hopes that he would give me a certain large commission and that I would make a handsome profit. He was about convinced, I am sure, that I was the man to handle it for him. His small deals with me had always been to his profit and my credit."
"Oh, I understand!"
"And a possible good customer is removed," Lerton went on. "So you have an alibi for Sidney, have you? In that case—if he did not kill Rufus Shepley—he must have told that story about meeting me when he was in a panic immediately following his arrest. Sid always was panicky, you know."
"I didn't know that a panicky man could pick up a million dollars in ten years."
"Oh, I suppose Sidney was fortunate. There are wonderful opportunities at times in Central America, and I suppose he happened to just strike one of them right. He was very fortunate, indeed. Not every man can have good luck like that."
"Well, I'm sorry that I troubled you," Farland said. "And now, I'll get out—if you'll do me a small favor."
"Anything, Farland."