With uplifted hand, Don Rafael gave the oath. In Dixon’s dim eyes there still flickered the iron will of the man who had always gone crooked. Slowly, with infinite effort, came the confession:
“I, James Harkness Dixon, commander, United States navy, being in full possession of my faculties, do hereby solemnly swear that Stanley Graydon, captain, United States marine corps, is guiltless of cheating at cards on the U. S. S. Franklin, on the night of Friday, January 3rd.”
His emotionless voice trailed away. Only the racing of Stanley Graydon’s pen across the paper broke the acute silence of the room.
“I, James Harkness Dixon, did falsely and maliciously,” the weak voice persisted, “bring that charge to cover my own guilt. I do further swear that I brought this accusation to throw suspicion later on Captain Graydon for reasons that he has sworn not to reveal.”
He turned his head with an effort. There was a trace of the old peremptoriness in his whispered order:
“Now, Graydon, as soon as Don Rafael has witnessed it, I want to talk to you alone.”
The old don left them, and Dixon began. He was speaking quickly, as though the wings of death were beating over him.
“I marked the cards. Planted duplicate deck in your room. Dealt you that ace-high full off the bottom. If the sale of those plans ever got out, you’d have been the culprit. My assistant. Combination to the safe.”
Stanley Graydon leaned forward. The knuckles of his hands showed white under their tan. Full comprehension of it all was in his steady eyes.
“Same crowd at bottom—Ramona Bay. Knew you and Don Rafael were right. You’re too fine a lad to sacrifice.” He tried to raise himself on one elbow, but Stanley Graydon caught him tenderly. “Steady, old man, steady!” he said softly. “They had you in a devilish fix. I understand. Steady!”