“No. I am sure it is not possible.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Certainly I mean it.”
“Then you believe that I am not responsible for the death of Orizaba? I want your assurance of that, if you can give it.”
“Very well, my young friend, then you have it. I believe that you are no more responsible for the death of Ramon Orizaba than I am—unless the fact that you owned the weapon that killed him may be said to convey responsibility. But, Danton, I am not at all sure that you did own it.”
“You are not?”
“No. The needle is missing from your desk. You think you wiped away a spot of blood from the back of his neck. You believe that the needle was imbedded in his neck at the time because you think you detected its presence there. It remains to be seen if your conclusions, arrived at when you were not in a responsible condition of mind, are correct. How do you feel now, by the way?”
“Rocky; terribly rocky and shaky.”
Nick put out one hand and rested it on the shoulder of his companion.
“Danton,” he said, “I feel that the very best tonic I can give you for your services is to tell you how much I admire your conduct this morning. You have done nobly, and you have acted bravely and almost fearlessly. You have won my respect, my faith and my lasting friendship for all time, by your conduct since I found you awaiting me in the reception-room at my house. Be as brave through the ordeals you will have to face as you have been in the beginning, and take my word for it the clouds will disappear.”