The evening of his death you quarrelled openly in a public restaurant.

Later, in a spirit of friendship, I called you up and said he had made a will practically disinheriting you.

Between that time and the next morning he is murdered in his own apartments, his safe rifled, and yet, the only paper missing is this will, to the existence of which I can testify.
If suspicion is once cast upon you, how can you clear yourself?
Can you prove that you were in your own apartments, asleep in your own bed from one o'clock until eight?
Answer that." Cavendish tried, but although his lips moved, they gave utterance to no sound.

He could but stare into those eyes confronting him.

Enright scarcely gave him opportunity.
"So, the words won't come.