"How do you know it isn't?"
"Because I was there myself part of the time."
Jack stared at her in blank dismay. Astonishment looked at her, too, from the older brother's eyes.
"You were in my uncle's apartment—on the night of the murder?" James said at last.
"I was. I came to Denver to see him—to get justice for my sister. I didn't intend to let the villain escape scot free for what he had done."
"Pardon me," interrupted Jack, and the girl noticed his voice had a queer note of anxiety in it. "Did your sister ever tell you that my uncle was responsible for—?" He left the sentence in air.
"No, she won't talk yet. I don't know why. But I found a note signed with his initials. He's the man. I know that."
James looked at his brother. "I think we may take that for granted,
Jack. We'll accept such responsibilities on us as it involves.
Perhaps you'd better not interrupt Miss McLean till she has finished
her story."
"I made an appointment with him after I had tried all day to get him on the 'phone or to see him. That was Thursday, the day I reached town."
"He was in Colorado Springs all that day," explained James.