“You’re sure, then, that it was on the coat when you returned to the house?”
“Why, yes,” answered Drysdale, looking at him in some astonishment, “reasonably sure.”
Godfrey fell a moment silent; then he shook his head impatiently.
“There’s another thing,” he said. “How did your pistol get out there in that boat?”
“That’s another puzzler.”
“Now see here, Jack,” continued Godfrey seriously, “there’s one thing certain—either you killed Graham or Tremaine did.”
“Tremaine?” repeated the prisoner, with tightening lips.
“Yes. Do you know of any evidence against him?”
Drysdale paused a moment, his brows knitted.
“No,” he answered positively, at last. “I don’t see how Tremaine could possibly have done it.”
“Why not?”
“Because he didn’t leave the house, so Delroy says. I know he was there when I went out, and when I came back I saw him sitting by his lighted window, writing apparently.”
“Ah!” Then after a moment, “Did you keep that journal you promised to keep?”
“Yes; you’ll find it in my room—that is”
He stopped suddenly and coloured.
“Well? Out with it.”
“I just happened to think that perhaps that damned fool of a coroner’s got it. See here, Jim, if you find it I want you to promise me one thing—
