"Murgatroyd told me, Miriam, the greatest cock-and-bull story you ever
heard." Miriam looked as if her brain would snap. "It seems that the
papers have distorted, exaggerated everything. The fact is, Miriam,
dear, the case is the flimsiest...."
Miriam drew a deep breath.
"How? Explain yourself!"
Then Shirley went on to tell that nobody had seen Hargraves killed,
nobody had seen the shot fired; that they had only got some disreputable
gambler or other who claimed to have witnessed a quarrel between them.
"And, oh, yes," she added a moment later, "the man that killed Hargraves
robbed him of ten thousand dollars--and of course Lawrence Challoner
wouldn't rob a man, much less kill one--so don't you see, there's
nothing in the story at all."
"I don't know," answered Miriam slowly, "whether he would or not."
"What!" gasped the girl.
"Don't misunderstand me," pleaded the woman. "There are two Lawrence
Challoners--one is the man I love--that loves me; the other is the
Lawrence Challoner who--well--I don't care," she added fiercely, "what
he's done, I want him back." She sobbed for an instant. "You didn't
know, Shirley, that we had a quarrel--I treated him badly, shamefully;
he hasn't come back since."
"You quarrelled--you, Miriam!" The girl opened her eyes wide. "What
about?"
"Money," admitted the conscience-stricken woman--"money. He wanted me to
give him some--a perfectly natural request, wasn't it?--Men have got to
have money," she went on, repeating his words, "and I wouldn't give him
any. It was brutal in me--I can never forgive myself!"
A look of astonishment crossed Shirley's face.
"You wouldn't give him any money? And he didn't have any when he went
away?"