Challoner reddened. For an instant a wild look came into his eyes.
"Surely there is no necessity of bringing any other names into this," he answered hotly; and then little by little calming down he recounted graphically all the incidents leading to and of that memorable night, saying in conclusion:—
"... And then Room A at Cradlebaugh's and——"
A most unusual performance on the part of the prosecutor cut him short. All the time Challoner had been laying bare the facts as he remembered them, Murgatroyd had been toying silently with a pigskin wallet on which appeared in gold the initials: "R. H."; and just when his prisoner was on the point of ending his story, he tossed it over to him.
Challoner caught it "on the fly."
"Do you recognise that?" Murgatroyd demanded. The prosecutor desired, if possible, to add robbery to the motive in the case.
Challoner never winked an eyelash.
"Know it?" he replied glibly, "I should think I did! It was Hargraves's. When I saw it last there was ten thousand dollars in it." And turning it almost inside out, he asked in an offhand manner:—
"Where's the money gone?"
Murgatroyd's eyes searched the face of the man before him as if he would read his very soul.