"Prosecutor Murgatroyd," he began, gulping, "it's up to you to clear me of that Hargraves affair. I'm not the murderer of Hargraves!"
Miriam and Shirley had risen, but they did not move; they hung upon the prosecutor's answer.
Murgatroyd leaned back in his chair, and returned calmly:—
"I know it."
"You know it?" gasped the three visitors; and the next moment the women were grouped around the prosecutor's desk.
Murgatroyd proceeded to open his mail.
"Yes," he mused, "I have known it for almost five years—you must have known it, too."
"Not until a few hours ago," Challoner quickly informed him.
"You don't say so," was Murgatroyd's answer; and presently he added: "though perhaps it is not so very surprising."
Challoner's eyes narrowed; his pulse was beating fast. Suddenly he said:—