Within the Law [107]
know. Don't you see?"
"I did want to see her, that's a fact," Burke admitted. He kept on with his writing, his head bent low. "But she wasn't at her flat. I guess she must have taken my advice, and skipped out. Clever girl, that!"
Garson contrived to present an aspect of comparative indifference.
"Yes," he agreed. "I was thinking of going West, myself," he ventured.
"Oh, were you?" Burke exclaimed; and, now, there was a new note in his voice. His hand slipped into the pocket where was the pistol, and clutched it. He stared at Garson fiercely, and spoke with a rush of the words:
"Why did you kill Eddie Griggs?"
"I didn't kill him!" The reply was quick enough, but it came weakly. Again, Garson was forced to wet his lips with a dry tongue, and to swallow painfully. "I tell you, I didn't kill him!" he repeated at last, with more force.
Burke sneered his disbelief.
"You killed him last night--with this!" he cried, viciously. On the instant, the pistol leaped into view, pointed straight at Garson. "Why?" the Inspector shouted. "Come on, now! Why?"
"I didn't, I tell you!" Garson was growing stronger, since at last the crisis was upon him. He got to his feet with lithe swiftness of movement, and sprang close to the desk. He bent his head forward challengingly, to meet the glare of his accuser's eyes. There was no flinching in his own steely stare. His nerves had ceased their jangling under the tautening of necessity.
"You did!" Burke vociferated. He put his whole will into the assertion of guilt, to batter down the man's resistance. "You did, I tell you! You did!"
Garson leaned still further forward, until his face was almost level with the Inspector's. His eyes were unclouded now, were blazing. His voice came resonant in its denial. The entire pose of him was intrepid, dauntless.
"And I tell you, I didn't!"
There passed many seconds, while the two men battled in silence, will warring against will. ... In the end, it was the murderer who triumphed.
Suddenly, Burke dropped the pistol into his pocket, and lolled back in his chair. His gaze fell away from the man confronting him. In the same instant, the rigidity of Garson's form relaxed, and he straightened slowly. A tide of secret joy swept through him, as he realized his victory. But his outward expression remained unchanged.
"Oh, well," Burke exclaimed amiably, "I didn't really think you did, but I wasn't sure, so I had to take a chance. You understand, don't you, Joe?"
"Sure, I understand," Garson replied, with an amiability equal to the Inspector's own.
Burke's manner continued very amicable as he went on speaking.
"You see, Joe, anyhow, we've got the right party safe enough. You can bet on that!"
Garson resisted the lure.
"If you don't want me----" he began suggestively; and he turned toward the door to the outer hall. "Why, if you don't want me, I'll--get along."
"Oh, what's the hurry, Joe?" Burke retorted, with the effect of stopping the other short. He pressed the buzzer as the agreed signal to Cassidy. "Where did you say Mary Turner was last night?"
At the question, all Garson's fears for the woman rushed back on him with appalling force. Of what avail his safety, if she were still in peril?
"I don't know where she was," he exclaimed, doubtfully. He realized his blunder even as the words left his lips, and sought to correct it as best he might. "Why, yes, I do, too," he went on, as if assailed by sudden memory. "I dropped into her place kind of late, and they said she'd gone to bed--headache, I guess.... Yes, she was home, of course. She didn't go out of the house, all night." His insistence on the point was of itself suspicious, but eagerness to protect her stultified his wits.
Burke sat grim and silent, offering no comment on the lie.
"Know anything about young Gilder?" he demanded. "Happen to know where he is now?" He arose and came around the desk, so that he stood close to Garson, at whom he glowered.
"Not a thing!" was the earnest answer. But
"I did want to see her, that's a fact," Burke admitted. He kept on with his writing, his head bent low. "But she wasn't at her flat. I guess she must have taken my advice, and skipped out. Clever girl, that!"
Garson contrived to present an aspect of comparative indifference.
"Yes," he agreed. "I was thinking of going West, myself," he ventured.
"Oh, were you?" Burke exclaimed; and, now, there was a new note in his voice. His hand slipped into the pocket where was the pistol, and clutched it. He stared at Garson fiercely, and spoke with a rush of the words:
"Why did you kill Eddie Griggs?"
"I didn't kill him!" The reply was quick enough, but it came weakly. Again, Garson was forced to wet his lips with a dry tongue, and to swallow painfully. "I tell you, I didn't kill him!" he repeated at last, with more force.
Burke sneered his disbelief.
"You killed him last night--with this!" he cried, viciously. On the instant, the pistol leaped into view, pointed straight at Garson. "Why?" the Inspector shouted. "Come on, now! Why?"
"I didn't, I tell you!" Garson was growing stronger, since at last the crisis was upon him. He got to his feet with lithe swiftness of movement, and sprang close to the desk. He bent his head forward challengingly, to meet the glare of his accuser's eyes. There was no flinching in his own steely stare. His nerves had ceased their jangling under the tautening of necessity.
"You did!" Burke vociferated. He put his whole will into the assertion of guilt, to batter down the man's resistance. "You did, I tell you! You did!"
Garson leaned still further forward, until his face was almost level with the Inspector's. His eyes were unclouded now, were blazing. His voice came resonant in its denial. The entire pose of him was intrepid, dauntless.
"And I tell you, I didn't!"
There passed many seconds, while the two men battled in silence, will warring against will. ... In the end, it was the murderer who triumphed.
Suddenly, Burke dropped the pistol into his pocket, and lolled back in his chair. His gaze fell away from the man confronting him. In the same instant, the rigidity of Garson's form relaxed, and he straightened slowly. A tide of secret joy swept through him, as he realized his victory. But his outward expression remained unchanged.
"Oh, well," Burke exclaimed amiably, "I didn't really think you did, but I wasn't sure, so I had to take a chance. You understand, don't you, Joe?"
"Sure, I understand," Garson replied, with an amiability equal to the Inspector's own.
Burke's manner continued very amicable as he went on speaking.
"You see, Joe, anyhow, we've got the right party safe enough. You can bet on that!"
Garson resisted the lure.
"If you don't want me----" he began suggestively; and he turned toward the door to the outer hall. "Why, if you don't want me, I'll--get along."
"Oh, what's the hurry, Joe?" Burke retorted, with the effect of stopping the other short. He pressed the buzzer as the agreed signal to Cassidy. "Where did you say Mary Turner was last night?"
At the question, all Garson's fears for the woman rushed back on him with appalling force. Of what avail his safety, if she were still in peril?
"I don't know where she was," he exclaimed, doubtfully. He realized his blunder even as the words left his lips, and sought to correct it as best he might. "Why, yes, I do, too," he went on, as if assailed by sudden memory. "I dropped into her place kind of late, and they said she'd gone to bed--headache, I guess.... Yes, she was home, of course. She didn't go out of the house, all night." His insistence on the point was of itself suspicious, but eagerness to protect her stultified his wits.
Burke sat grim and silent, offering no comment on the lie.
"Know anything about young Gilder?" he demanded. "Happen to know where he is now?" He arose and came around the desk, so that he stood close to Garson, at whom he glowered.
"Not a thing!" was the earnest answer. But