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EFFELBOWER insisted that we join him in an appetiser; he had evidently jumped to the conclusion that Godfrey was a famous New York detective, and he gazed at him with respect and a little awe. He wanted to discuss again all the details of the tragedy, but we got rid of him, after a while, and went in to dinner. Then we started toward the jail for a final talk with Drysdale. Another jailer had come on duty, but he made no difficulty about admitting us.

“Well?” asked the prisoner, as soon as we were alone.

“Oh,” said Godfrey, regarding him with a good-humoured smile, “you won’t be electrocuted this time—though I must say you deserve it!”

“What!” cried Drysdale, colouring suddenly. “You don’t believe”

“That you killed Graham? Oh, no; but you’ve made an unmitigated ass of yourself, my friend. Did you have a pleasant time, Monday night, kicking your heels by the hour together, out at the pergola?”

Drysdale flushed again, but this time it was with anger.

“Oh, so she told you, did she?” he asked between