"It is not. Now get this straight, Lawrence—I came here to find out what you know about Warren and the circumstances surrounding his death. I wanted to be decent about the thing—to cause you no embarrassment if I was convinced that you were unconnected with the crime. You have forced my hand. You have driven me to methods which I abhor—"
"You haven't a thing on me," said Lawrence and his tone had degenerated into a half whine. "You can't scare me a little bit. I've got an alibi—"
"Certainly you have. So, too, have a good many men who have eventually been proven guilty."
Lawrence rose nervously and paced the room. "You asked me a little while ago if I was in this city at the hour when the crime was committed. I answered that it was for me to know and you to find out. I'll answer direct now—just to stop this absurd suspicion which has been directed against me: I was not in the city at that hour—or within six hours of midnight. I was in Nashville."
"At what hotel?"
"At the—" Lawrence paused. "Matter of fact, I wasn't at any hotel."
"You had registered at the Hermitage, hadn't you?"
"Yes, but—"
"When did you check out?" Carroll's voice was snapping out with staccato insistence.
"About four o'clock in the afternoon."