"How did you know that?" I asked.
He grinned widely and without warmth. "The whole town's been talking about you, Mr. Wills. A stranger can't be here all day without his whole record coming out." The grin vanished. "You're a magician, all right, and you can get out of handcuffs. Ain't that so?"
"Of course it's so," Zoberg answered for me. "But why should that mean that my friend has killed Mr. Gird?"
O'Bryant wagged his head in triumph. "That's what we'll find out later. Right now it adds up very simple. Gird was killed, in a room that was all sealed up. Three other folks was in with him, all handcuffed to their chairs. Which of them got loose without the others catching on?" He nodded brightly at me, as if in answer to his own question.
Zoberg gave me a brief, penetrating glance, then seemed to shrivel up in his own chair. He looked almost as exhausted as Susan. I, too, was feeling near to collapse.
"You want to own up, Mr. Wills?" invited O'Bryant.
"I certainly do not," I snapped at him. "You've got the wrong man."
"I thought," he made answer, as though catching me in a damaging admission, "that it was a devil, not a man, who killed Gird."
I shook my head. "I don't know what killed him."
"Maybe you'll remember after a while." He turned toward the door, "You come along with me. I'm going to lock you up."