“Then I'm Clark. I remember her, and the cabin.”
There was a short silence following that admission. To Dick, it was filled with the thought of Elizabeth, and of her relation to what he was about to hear. Again he braced himself for what was coming.
“I suppose,” he said at last, “that if I ran away I was in pretty serious trouble. What was it?”
“We've got no absolute proof that you are Clark, remember. You don't know, and Maggie Donaldson was considered not quite sane before she died. I've told you there's a chance you are the other man.”
“All right. What had Clark done?”
“He had shot a man.”
The reporter was instantly alarmed. If Dick had been haggard before, he was ghastly now. He got up slowly and held to the back of his chair.
“Not—murder?” he asked, with stiff lips.
“No,” Bassett said quickly. “Not at all. See here, you've had about all you can stand. Remember, we don't even know you are Clark. All I said was—”
“I understand that. It was murder, wasn't it?”