Hattie moistened her dry lips.

“It was Jud Clark, all right,” she said.  “I knew him all his life, off and on.  But I wish I hadn’t screamed.  I don’t believe he killed Lucas, and I never will.  I hope he gets away.”

She eyed the sheriff vindictively, but he only smiled grimly.

“What did I tell you?” he said to Bassett.  “Hell with the women —­that was Jud Clark.  And we’ll get him, Hattie.  Don’t worry.  Go on.”

She looked at Bassett.

“When you left me, I sat outside the door, as you said.  Then I heard him moving, and I went in.  The room was not very light, and I didn’t know him at first.  He sat up in bed and looked at me, and he said, ‘Why, hello, Hattie Thorwald.’  That’s my name.  I married a Swede.  Then he looked again, and he said, ’Excuse me, I thought you were a Mrs. Thorwald, but I see now you’re older.’  I recognized him then, and I thought I was going to faint.  I knew he’d be arrested the moment it was known he was here.  I said, ’Lie down, Mr. Jud.  You’re not very well.’  And I closed the door and locked it.  I was scared.”

Her voice broke; she fumbled for a handkerchief.  The sheriff glanced at Bassett.

“Now where’s your Livingstone story?” he demanded.  “All right, Hattie.  Let’s have it.”

“I said, ’For God’s sake, Mr. Jud, lie still, until I think what to do.  The sheriff’s likely downstairs this very minute.’  And then he went queer and wild.  He jumped off the bed and stood listening and staring, and shaking all over.  ‘I’ve got to get away,’ he said, very loud.  ‘I won’t let them take me.  I’ll kill myself first!’ When I put my hand on his arm he threw it off, and he made for the door.  I saw then that he was delirious with fever, and I stood in front of the door and begged him not to go out.  But he threw me away so hard that that I fell, and I screamed.”

“And then what?”

“That’s all.  If I hadn’t been almost out of my mind I’d never have told that it was Jud Clark.  That’ll hang on me dying day.”

An hour or so later Bassett went back to his room in a state of mental and nervous exhaustion.  He knew that from that time on he would be under suspicion and probably under espionage, and he proceeded methodically, his door locked, to go over his papers.  His notebook and the cuttings from old files relative to the Clark case he burned in his wash basin and then carefully washed the basin.  That done, his attendance on a sick man, and the letter found on the bed was all the positive evidence they had to connect him with the case.  He had had some thought of slipping out by the fire-escape and making a search for Dick on his own account, but his lack of familiarity with his surroundings made that practically useless.