Q. “You recognize this revolver as the one you found?”
A. “Yes.”
Q. “You are familiar with it?”
A. “Yes. It is Mr. Clark's.”
Q. “You made the second search because you had not examined the woodbox earlier?”
A. “No. I had examined the woodbox. I had a theory that—”
Q. “The Jury cannot listen to any theories. This is an inquiry into facts.”
“I'm going to find Melis,” the reporter said thoughtfully, as he folded up the papers. “The fact is, I mailed an advertisement to the New York papers to-day. I want to get that theory of his. It's the servants in the house who know what is going on. I've got an idea that he'd stumbled onto something. He'd searched for the revolver, and it wasn't there. He went back and it was. All that conflicting evidence, and against it, what? That you'd run away!”
But he saw that Dick was very tired, and even a little indifferent. He would be glad to know that his hands were clean, but against the intimation that Beverly Carlysle had known more than she had disclosed he presented a dogged front of opposition. After a time Bassett put the papers away and essayed more general conversation, and there he found himself met half way and more. He began to get Dick as a man, for the first time, and as a strong man. He watched his quiet, lined face, and surmised behind it depths of tenderness and gentleness. No wonder the little Wheeler girl had worshipped him.
It was settled that Dick was to spend the night there, and such plans as he had Bassett left until morning. But while he was unfolding the bed-lounge on which Dick was to sleep, Dick opened a line of discussion that cost the reporter an hour or two's sleep before he could suppress his irritation.