The light switched up so that the glare struck me full in my aching eyes. The sheriff said, “I’m afraid, Donald, I’m going to have to go over this with you bit by bit, and watch your facial expressions.”

“To hell with that stuff!” I said. “That’s the old hooey. You’re giving me the third degree.”

“No, we’re not giving you any third degree, Donald—that is, I’m not. But this is a serious matter, and we want to get the truth.”

“What’s wrong with my story?” I asked.

“Everything,” he said. “In the first place, you weren’t there in that room, Donald. Some of the things you said about Cunweather are true but not all of them. You didn’t shoot Morgan. The girl shot Morgan. You gave her the gun. She dropped the gun and ran out. She called you from the telephone booth downstairs. A tenant in the building gave her a nickel with which to put through the call. Your landlady had to get you up out of bed— Now then, Donald, we want the truth.”

I said, “Oh, all right. Turn that damn light out of my eyes and I’ll tell you everything.”

The district attorney cleared his throat. “Take this,” he said to the shorthand reporter. “Now, Donald, as I understand it, you’re going to make a voluntary statement or confession. This is the result of your own volition. No promises or inducements have been made to you; nor have any threats been made. You’re going to make a statement simply because you want to tell the truth and make a clean breast of the entire situation. Is that right?”

“Have it your own way,” I said.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Donald.”

“Oh, hell,” I said, “you’ve got me. What’s the use?”

He turned to the shorthand reporter. “The answer is yes,” he said. “Take it down. That’s right, isn’t it, Donald?”

“Yes.”

“Go ahead,” the sheriff said. “Let’s hear the truth, Donald. But remember, we don’t want any more lying.”

He deflected the light so that my tortured eyeballs had a rest. “Go ahead, Donald.”

“I killed him,” I said, “but Alma Hunter doesn’t know it. And I didn’t do it because I was guarding Alma Hunter. I did it because I was told to.”

“Who told you to?”

“Bill Cunweather.”

The sheriff said, “Now, Donald, we don’t want any more lies.”

“You’re getting the real low-down now.”

“All right. Go ahead.”

‘Do you want it from the beginning?” I asked.

“Yes, from the beginning.”