"I beg your pardon. But it makes me wild to think how helpless I am. I can't keep Howell, for instance, from mousing around, and I can't keep Bede from peering and prying,"--
"Or me from guessing or breathing. No, you can't. Of course they may not discover anything, but even the police sometimes get hold of the right clue. You are trying to keep them from a certain clue, at a tremendous risk to yourself, and yet you don't know, you only suspect, that your silence may benefit the person I do not name."
Lawrence drummed impatiently with his fingers for a minute, and then he looked up with a direct glance into Lyon's eyes.
"Lyon, you're an awfully good fellow to have any patience with what must seem sheer unreason to you, and I wish I could be quite frank with you and make you see the situation as I do. But you are certain to be put on the witness stand yourself, so I simply can't give you any facts which you don't already know. You see that?"
"Yes,--but are they facts?"
Lawrence looked at him queerly. "What explanation do you suggest for my cane being where it was?" he asked.
"You left it somewhere,--perhaps at the state library--and Fullerton picked it up, carried it off, and had it in his hand when he was attacked."
Lawrence looked surprised and then he laughed in quick amusement.
"Ingenious, by Jove! I hope you've suggested that theory to Howell. It will give him something to occupy his mind. It would be difficult for him to prove it, but then. It would be difficult for the prosecution to disprove it--unless they should happen to discover where I actually did forget my cane."
"You mean--?"