“Done with what, Mose?”
“The money.”
“What money?”
“A fine question!” sneered Nick, with a terrible display of suppressed passion. “What money, indeed! The money of which you robbed Cecil Kendall, after beating out his brains under the windows of your own home.”
Royal was as white as a corpse, yet by a mighty effort of will he governed his agitation, and found voice with which to reply.
“You are mad, Mose—stark mad!” he cried hoarsely. “I did nothing of the kind.”
“You lie!” hissed Nick ferociously. “I saw you out there. I saw you do it—or just after you had done it. Don’t lie to me, Royal. You may blind others with a lie, perhaps, but you can’t blind me. I say I saw you do it, or at least saw you just after you did it.”
A look of utter despair had settled on Royal’s bloodless face, and he was trembling from head to foot. Yet in his staring eyes there was a look of misery and mute appeal that words could not describe.
“On my word you are wrong, Mose, utterly wrong!” he cried piteously. “I did not do it. I have not got the money.”
“You have! I say I saw you!”