UT of the stillness which followed the young man’s announcement came the mumbled words of a policeman:
“Begorra, this murder is just one damned confession after another!” Then some one said: “Hush, you fool!” and there was quiet again.
Clement Hall was too startled for immediate speech. His jaw dropped and his figure slumped limply. The young man stared at him in surprise, and then curiously at David Carroll, who was eyeing him with a deliberation which brought a slow flush of anger to the young artist’s face. He fidgeted uncomfortably. Finally he broke out irritably:
“What are you staring at? And why?”
By way of answer Carroll flipped back the lapel of his coat, disclosing his badge. Harrelson subsided. Carroll spoke softly:
“This way, young man, and you, too, commissioner, if you please.”
A battery of curious eyes followed their progress across the sombre hall, and as the door of the rest room closed behind them a bedlam of comment and conjecture broke loose.
The case had piled sensation on sensation until it had long since passed the point of plausibility. Larry O’Brien waxed garrulous.
“Be all the saints, ’tis spooky! Usually whin a murder is done we hunt for the guilty. This time we have two guilty wans and have to hunt for the innocent. Bedad, they lied whin they said that wonders have ceased!”
Meanwhile, in the rest room, David Carroll was questioning Vincent Harrelson in his habitual calm, unperturbed way. His first effort was to discover if the young man knew that any one else had confessed.
“You say you killed Hamilton?’
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We quarreled when I visited his house tonight. We have quarreled several times before. It is strictly a personal matter. I believe Mr. Hall was sufficiently intimate at Hamilton’s home to understand.”
Hall nodded.
“I believe I do.”
“You shot him in cold blood?” asked Carroll deliberately.
The young man leaped to his feet.
“Good God, no! We quarreled bitterly and he lost his head. He hit me here.” Harrelson exhibited a red spot on his left cheek. “I grappled with him and he tore loose. We were in the library then. He dashed to the table, picked up a paper weight, and would have thrown it at me, but I held him. When finally I let him go—and it is more than possible that I handled him a bit roughly—he ran into the next room and took a revolver from the drawer of the table. I grabbed his wrist and got the revolver away from him. Then it went off—how, I don’t know. He fell, and that’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
The young man straightened nervously.
“Say, look here, what are you driving at? I’ve told you that was all!”
Apparently Carroll was looking at a set of dominoes spread out on the table before him. His next remark was as casual as a comment on an item in the day’s news:
“How about the switching off of the lights?”
But, disinterested as he seemed, he did not miss the sudden pallor of Harrelson’s cheeks. The young man opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and rose.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I refuse to say anything further!”
Carroll’s voice grew cold as steel.
“What about the switching off of the lights?” he snapped. “And who fired the other shot?”
Harrelson gripped the edge of his chair.
“I have nothing further to say at this time. I’ve told you I killed Mr. Hamilton, and that’s all I’m going to tell you. I wish you’d put me in a cell or wherever I am to be put.”
“You’re a very foolish young man,” said Carroll. “If I were you”
“You’re not. And I’ll be exceedingly obliged if you’ll keep your advice to yourself.”
Clement Hall touched the artist on the arm.
“He’s trying to help you, Mr. Harrelson.”
“I haven’t asked for help from any one. I’ve come down here to give myself up for killing a man. The duty of the police department is very plain. There’s nothing else to the case.”
“You’re mistaken, Mr. Harrelson,” said Carroll in his characteristically friendly manner. “I am in charge of this case, and I know several things about it which you think I do not know. Since you have seen fit to assume a hostile attitude, I will not mince matters. Put in plain English, your story is false as to several salient facts. I happen to know that just before Mr. Hamilton was shot the lights went out. They remained out for about six seconds. Then they snapped on again. Therefore, we are presented with one very pertinent question: Who switched those lights off and who switched them on again, and why? Have you anything to say about that?”
Harrelson looked up sullenly.
“Nothing.”