Durgan felt puzzled at the look and the laugh. "Are you sure he got the letter?"
'Dolphus pulled a well-worn bit of paper out of his pocket. It was a telegram dated only a few days before. He regarded it with an intense expression which might have been hatred, and after gloating over it for a few moments, he showed it to Durgan. It was dated, "Corner of Beard and 84th Street." It said only, "Received letter; you may depend on me." It was signed "B. D." It had been handed in at a New York office two days before.
"And if this friend should fail you?"
"He says, sir, that I can depend upon him; an' I wrote to him that if he didn't come up to the scratch he could depend on me." Another chuckle ended this speech.
"Oh, I see; you have some threat to hold over his head."
'Dolphus did not answer.
Durgan, looking at the lustrous eyes and clever, sickly face, became exceedingly interested in the object of his contemplation. How strange to sit thus face to face, with perhaps nothing between him and the Claxton secret but this dying mulatto's flimsy will, and yet go away unsatisfied.
Almost in spite of himself, he bent forward and said, "You were in a certain house when a murder was committed. I do not believe you guilty or wish to harm you, but I believe you know who is guilty."
A look of caution came over the other's face; he listened and looked intently. "Look here, sir; I wasn't never at no house where there was such things done. I wasn't never at no place such as you say."
Durgan had no argument to meet this obvious lie. He could not quote his authority. He was, however, more interested than angry, because the prisoner was so evidently enjoying the momentous question raised, and with lips parted, sat expectant, as if he did not intend his denial to be believed.