The Devil's Advocate by Fred M. White

David Macrae was seated in an office trying to interest himself in his work, with somewhat indifferent success. He was wondering if the time would ever come when he would be free of the cloud that was hanging over his head. He had many friends, of course, who believed in him implicitly, but, on the other hand, there were those who passed him with downcast eyes, to say nothing of the few who were always ready to impute the worst motives to everybody. Generally speaking, Hitherfield regarded David as an innocent man. But this was not good enough for him, and he would never be satisfied until he could stand before the world without a slur upon his character, and the police could point to the actual culprit.

And he was troubled in his mind, moreover, because he had kept to himself the history of his transactions with Joseph Baines. He knew now that he had committed a terrible indiscretion in not informing Inspector Dent of that debt, and disclosing to him all that had happened in connection with it. It seemed to him that it was too late now, and that any explanation with regard to that letter would be accepted as the prompting of a guilty conscience, and lead to his immediate arrest on the charge of murder. And David shrunk with horror at the mere contemplation of finding himself within a prison cell. He would have to go through with it now, and trust to luck to pull him through. It was just possible that the flimsy copy of that fateful letter in the possession of Douglas and Co. would never be found, though it might come out in the course of years, or it might even have come out already. That, at any rate, was a risk to be run. And yet, as he sat there at his office table, he was wishing from the bottom of his heart that he had told the whole story to Inspector Dent at the time that the crime was discovered. Only Philippa knew, and she had placed the letter away where it could not be found.