"No; it might relieve me."
"This time I will save you words. On the night when you received your wound, you were sitting by your table, reading by the light of the student's lamp, and smoking luxuriously; the door was shut, but the front window was open."
"True!" with a look of deepening amazement.
"You heard the sound of wheels on the gravel outside, and then some one called your name."
"Oh!" a new look creeping into his eyes.
"When you opened the door and looked out, could you catch a glimpse of the man who shot at you?"
"No," slowly, as if thinking.
"Have you any reason for suspecting any one? Can you guess at a motive?"
"Wait;" he turned his head restlessly, seemingly in the effort to remember something, and then looked toward Dr. Denham.
"In my desk," he said, slowly, "among some loose letters, is a yellow envelope, bearing the Trafton post-mark. Will you find it?"