"If necessary, I will pay it."
"And you won't tell me where you were?"
"No, I won't."
Calton was beginning to feel annoyed.
"You're very foolish," he said, "sacrificing your life to some feeling of false modesty. You must prove an alibi."
No answer.
"What time did you get home?"
"About two o'clock in the morning."
"Did you walk home?"
"Yes—through the Fitzroy Gardens."
"Did you see anyone on your way home?"
"I don't know. I wasn't paying attention."
"Did anyone see you!"
"Not that I know of."
"Then you refuse to tell me where you were between one and two o'clock on Friday morning?"
"Absolutely!"
Calton thought for a moment, to consider his next move.
"Do you know that Whyte carried valuable papers about with him?"
Fitzgerald hesitated, and turned pale.
"No! I did not know," he said, reluctantly.
The lawyer made a master stroke.
"Then why did you take them from him?"
"What! Had he it with him?"
Calton saw his advantage, and seized it at once.
"Yes, he had it with him. Why did you take it?"
"I did not take it—didn't even know he had it with him."
"Indeed! Will you kindly tell me what 'it' is?"
Brian saw the trap into which he had fallen.
"No! I will not," he answered steadily.
"Was it a jewel?"
"No."
"Was it an important paper?"
"I don't know."
"Ah! It was a paper. I can see it in your face. And was that paper of importance to you?"
"Why do you ask?"
Calton fixed his keen gray eyes steadily on Brian's face.
"Because," he answered slowly, "the man to whom that paper was of such value murdered Whyte."
