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Hilliard looked at Brandt, with twinkling eyes. It struck Fraser

that they had between them some joke in which he was not a

sharer.

"You're willing to assume full responsibility for the death of

Faulkner, are you? Ready to plead guilty, eh?"

Fraser laughed. "Just a moment. I didn't say that. What I said

was that I'm here to stand my trial. It's up to you to prove me

guilty."

"But, in point of fact, you practically admit it."

"In point of fact, I would prefer not to say so. Prove it, if you

can."

"I have witnesses here, ready to swear to the truth, lieutenant."

"Aren't your witnesses prejudiced a little?"

"Maybe." The smile on Hilliard's fat face broadened. "Two of them

are right here. Suppose we find out."

He stepped to the door of the inner office, and opened it. From

the room emerged Dillon and his daughter. The Texan looked at

Arlie in blank amazement.

"This young lady says she was present, lieutenant, and knows who

fired the shot that killed Faulkner."