He seemed oilier than usual as he spread his hands in hopeless appeal. "If I knew anything, believe me, I would tell you—positively I would tell you."
"I'm delighted to hear it. Your willingness makes my task easier. First, then, please tell me where you were at midnight Monday."
Mannix's eyes slowly contracted until they looked like two tiny shining disks, but otherwise the man did not move. After what seemed an interminable pause, he spoke.
"I should tell you where I was Monday? Why should I have to do that? . . . Maybe I'm suspected of the murder—yes?"
"You're not suspected now. But your apparent unwillingness to answer my question is certainly suspicious. Why don't you care to have me know where you were?"
"I got no reason to keep it from you, y' understand." Mannix shrugged. "I got nothing to be ashamed of—absolutely! . . . I had a lot of accounts to go over at the office—winter-season stocks. I was down at the office until ten o'clock—maybe later. Then at half past ten"
"That'll do!" Vance's voice cut in tartly. "No need to drag any one else into this thing."
He spoke with a curious significance of emphasis, and Mannix studied him craftily, trying to read what knowledge, if any, lay behind his words. But he received no enlightenment from Vance's features. The warning, however, had been enough to halt him.
"You don't want to know where I was at half past ten?"
"Not particularly," said Vance. "We want to
