After a time, however, Fremont decided that it might
be to his advantage to draw the fellow out, and the
next time he came up he asked, abruptly:
"What do you know of Nestor's movements that night?"
"Did I say that I knew anything of them?" was the astonished reply.
"When you thought you had captured Nestor you said you
knew of every move he made that night. Not my movements,
but Nestor's."
"Don't get gay, now," growled the other. "I'll talk about
that with Nestor, when I find him. I'll talk about your
movements with you. There's plenty of proof that you did
the job there."
"And you've got it, of course?" said Fremont, with a shrug
of disbelief.
"Of course I've got it. The only thing I can't dope out is
the motive you had."
"You ought to be able to find that," sneered the boy. "Your
imagination seems to be working well to-day. Were you there
that night? If not, how does it come that you know so much
about what didn't take place?" he added, provokingly.
"You were seen to strike the blow," was the blustering reply.
"Where were you at that time?" asked Fremont, knowing, of
course, that the fellow was lying to him, and hoping to
confuse him by the abruptness of the question.
"That does not matter," was the reply. "It is known that
you sneaked into the building after the elevator stopped,
and went up to the Cameron suite. After stopping there
for some moments, long enough to create the disorder that
existed there, you returned to the lower floor.
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