Shirley frowned; the man changed the tone of his voice with a versatility that she declared to herself was little short of scandalous; he went on:—
"That purpose was to kill Hargraves. Last night you heard his confession to that effect; this morning he substantiated it in detail."
Shirley wrapped one hand over the other and sat looking at Murgatroyd with white drawn face.
"I suppose you realise that this thing is going to kill Miriam Challoner?"
The man shook his head vigorously.
"Bosh! If grief could kill the woman, living with Challoner would have accomplished that long ago."
"How unfeeling! How like a man! You understand women so well!" she declared, looking up at him with a mocking smile; and then went on to plead: "You must do something—you must get him free! Surely it remains for his friend to do this much for him! You will—won't you?" There was a suspicion of moisture in the girl's eyes.
Shaking his head, Murgatroyd rose and began to pace the floor, not because he wanted to think, but merely to give the girl time to regain her composure. At last he stopped directly in front of her.
"Shirley"—it was surprising how gentle his voice could be at times—"I want you to realise the circumstances of this case, which you seem to have forgotten. In the presence of several people, including yourself, this man has deliberately confessed to a premeditated murder; a man in my custody is a witness to the facts; at least five men know of the motive—his quarrel with Colonel Hargraves. No," he concluded severely, "if Challoner were my brother or my father, more than that, if you were in Challoner's place to-day, I should have to try you—convict you. There would be no escape."
"But the condition that made him do this thing was abnormal," she persisted; "bad companions and bad habits had warped his mind."