"Frankly," admitted Warden Rand, "I don't know. I'll confess he has puzzled me ever since he has been here and—"
"And you thought enough of him to save him from the lash," supplied the doctor impulsively. "Well, I'll tell you what I think. I think a man who has done what he did to-day isn't the kind of man ever to have killed Doctor Merton over there in Berley Falls in cold blood, or hot blood, either, for that matter—evidence or no evidence, and whatever he says himself to the contrary."
Warden Rand drummed for an instant with his fingers on the desk.
"I am afraid that is not for us to say," he said gravely. "We can only deal with conditions as we find them. He is here for life—we cannot alter that. However, this afternoon makes a pretty big score to his credit and we'll see what we can do for him. Wenger, you say, can't live? "
"No," the doctor answered. "There is absolutely no chance for him—he is sinking fast now. I'm sorry for him, for he put up a game fight. I'd give him twelve hours at the outside and—"
Doctor Kreelmar broke off and turned suddenly at the sound of a step in the corridor without—then frowned, as the dark, handsome face of Harold Merton appeared in the doorway. As impulsive and irascible as he was big of heart, it was Doctor Kreelmar's boast that he wore his heart upon his sleeve. He had taken a dislike to this man who of late had been so frequent a visitor at the warden's house—and he made no attempt to conceal it now.
"May I come in?" Merton asked.
