"More than I dare tell you, Conniston. But WHY didn't you bring back a
signed confession from him? A dying man is usually willing to make
that."
"If he is guilty, yes," agreed Keith. "But this man was a different
sort. If he killed Judge Kirkstone, he had no regret. He did not
consider himself a criminal. He felt that he had dealt out justice in
his own way, and therefore, even when he was dying, he would not sign
anything or state anything definitely."
McDowell subsided into his chair.
"And the curse of it is I haven't a thing on Shan Tung," he gritted.
"Not a thing. Miriam Kirkstone is her own mistress, and in the eyes of
the law he is as innocent of crime as I am. If she is voluntarily
giving herself as a victim to this devil, it is her own
business--legally, you understand. Morally--"
He stopped, his savagely gleaming eyes boring Keith to the marrow.
"He hates you as a snake hates fire-water. It is possible, if he
thought the opportunity had come to him--"
Again he paused, cryptic, waiting for the other to gather the thing he
had not spoken. Keith, simulating two of Conniston's tricks at the same
time, shrugged a shoulder and twisted a mustache as he rose to his
feet.
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