"But I say," protested the Queen's Messenger, shaking his finger,
violently, at the Solicitor, "that story won't do. You didn't play
fair--and--and you talked so fast I couldn't make out what it was all
about. I'll bet you that evidence wouldn't hold in a court of law--
you couldn't hang a cat on such evidence. Your story is condemned
tommy-rot. Now, my story might have happened, my story bore the mark-
-"
In the joy of creation, the story-tellers had forgotten their
audience, until a sudden exclamation from Sir Andrew caused them to
turn, guiltily, toward him. His face was knit with lines of anger,
doubt, and amazement.
"What does this mean?" he cried. "Is this a jest, or are you mad? If
you know this man is a murderer, why is he at large? Is this a game
you have been playing? Explain yourselves at once. What does it
mean?"
The American, with first a glance at the others, rose and bowed,
courteously.
"I am not a murderer, Sir Andrew, believe me," he said; "you need not
be alarmed. As a matter of fact, at this moment I am much more afraid
of you than you could possibly be of me. I beg you, please to be
indulgent.
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