"I'm damned if I'll explain anything to you under these conditions!" For all his nerveless poise, Cleaver was finding it difficult to control himself. "I'm no pickpocket that you can drag in here when it suits your convenience and put through a third degree."
"That's eminently satisfactory to me." Markham spoke ominously. "But since you refuse to do your explaining as a free citizen, I have no other course than to alter your present status." He turned to Heath. "Sergeant, go across the hall and have Ben swear out a warrant for Charles Cleaver. Then lock this gentleman up."
Cleaver gave a start, and caught his breath sibilantly.
"On what charge?" he demanded.
"The murder of Margaret Odell."
The man sprang to his feet. The color had gone from his face, and the muscles of his jowls worked spasmodically.
"Wait! You're giving me a raw deal. And you'll lose out, too. You couldn't make that charge stick in a thousand years."
"Maybe not. But if you don't want to talk here, I'll make you talk in court."
"I'll talk here." Cleaver sat down again. "What do you want to know?"
Markham took out a cigar and lit it with deliberation.
"First: why did you tell me you were in Boonton Monday night?"
Cleaver apparently had expected the question.
"When I read of the Canary's death I wanted an
