Within the Law [90]
talk, but I might if circumstances were different. On account of his being the old man's son, I'm a little cramped in my style."
It was, in truth, one thing to browbeat and assault a convict like Dacey or Chicago Red, but quite another to employ the like violence against a youth of Dick Gilder's position in the world. Demarest understood perfectly, but he was inclined to be sceptical over the Inspector's theory that Dick possessed actual cognizance as to the killing of Griggs.
"You think that young Gilder really knows?" he questioned, doubtfully.
"I don't think anything--yet!" Burke retorted. "All I know is this: Eddie Griggs, the most valuable crook that ever worked for me, has been murdered." The official's voice was charged with threatening as he went on. "And some one, man or woman, is going to pay for it!"
"Woman?" Demarest repeated, in some astonishment.
Burke's voice came merciless.
"I mean, Mary Turner," he said slowly.
Demarest was shocked.
"But, Burke," he expostulated, "she's not that sort." The Inspector sneered openly.
"How do you know she ain't?" he demanded. "Well, anyhow, she's made a monkey out of the Police Department, and, first, last, and all the time, I'm a copper. . . And that reminds me," he went on with a resumption of his usual curt bluntness, "I want you to wait for Mr. Gilder outside, while I get busy with the girl they've brought down from Mary Turner's flat."
CHAPTER XXI. AGGIE AT BAY.
Burke, after the lawyer had left him, watched the door expectantly for the coming of the girl, whom he had ordered brought before him. But, when at last Dan appeared, and stood aside to permit her passing into the office, the Inspector gasped at the unexpectedness of the vision. He had anticipated the coming of a woman of that world with which he was most familiar in the exercise of his professional duties--the underworld of criminals, some one beautiful perhaps, but with the brand of viciousness marked subtly, yet visibly for the trained eye to see. Then, even in that first moment, he told himself that he should have been prepared for the unusual in this instance, since the girl had to do with Mary Turner, and that disturbing person herself showed in face and form and manner nothing to suggest aught but a gentlewoman. And, in the next instant, the Inspector forgot his surprise in a sincere, almost ardent admiration.
The girl was rather short, but of a slender elegance of form that was ravishing. She was gowned, too, with a chic nicety to arouse the envy of all less-fortunate women. Her costume had about it an indubitable air, a finality of perfection in its kind. On another, it might have appeared perhaps the merest trifle garish. But that fault, if in fact it ever existed, was made into a virtue by the correcting innocence of the girl's face. It was a childish face, childish in the exquisite smoothness of the soft, pink skin, childish in the wondering stare of the blue eyes, now so widely opened in dismay, childish in the wistful drooping of the rosebud mouth.
The girl advanced slowly, with a laggard hesitation in her movements obviously from fear. She approached the desk, from behind which the Inspector watched, fascinated by the fresh and wholesome beauty of this young creature. He failed to observe the underlying anger beneath the girl's outward display of alarm. He shook off his first impression by means of a resort to his customary bluster in such cases.
"Now, then, my girl," he said roughly, "I want to know----"
There came a change, wrought in the twinkling of an eye. The tiny, trimly shod foot of the girl rose and fell in a wrathful stamp.
"How dare you!" The clear blue eyes were become darkened with anger. There was a deepened leaf of red in either cheek. The drooping lips drooped no longer, but were bent to a haughtiness that was finely impressive.
Before the offended indignation of the young woman, Burke sat bewildered by embarrassment for once in his life, and quite at a loss.
"What's that?" he said, dubiously.
It was, in truth, one thing to browbeat and assault a convict like Dacey or Chicago Red, but quite another to employ the like violence against a youth of Dick Gilder's position in the world. Demarest understood perfectly, but he was inclined to be sceptical over the Inspector's theory that Dick possessed actual cognizance as to the killing of Griggs.
"You think that young Gilder really knows?" he questioned, doubtfully.
"I don't think anything--yet!" Burke retorted. "All I know is this: Eddie Griggs, the most valuable crook that ever worked for me, has been murdered." The official's voice was charged with threatening as he went on. "And some one, man or woman, is going to pay for it!"
"Woman?" Demarest repeated, in some astonishment.
Burke's voice came merciless.
"I mean, Mary Turner," he said slowly.
Demarest was shocked.
"But, Burke," he expostulated, "she's not that sort." The Inspector sneered openly.
"How do you know she ain't?" he demanded. "Well, anyhow, she's made a monkey out of the Police Department, and, first, last, and all the time, I'm a copper. . . And that reminds me," he went on with a resumption of his usual curt bluntness, "I want you to wait for Mr. Gilder outside, while I get busy with the girl they've brought down from Mary Turner's flat."
CHAPTER XXI. AGGIE AT BAY.
Burke, after the lawyer had left him, watched the door expectantly for the coming of the girl, whom he had ordered brought before him. But, when at last Dan appeared, and stood aside to permit her passing into the office, the Inspector gasped at the unexpectedness of the vision. He had anticipated the coming of a woman of that world with which he was most familiar in the exercise of his professional duties--the underworld of criminals, some one beautiful perhaps, but with the brand of viciousness marked subtly, yet visibly for the trained eye to see. Then, even in that first moment, he told himself that he should have been prepared for the unusual in this instance, since the girl had to do with Mary Turner, and that disturbing person herself showed in face and form and manner nothing to suggest aught but a gentlewoman. And, in the next instant, the Inspector forgot his surprise in a sincere, almost ardent admiration.
The girl was rather short, but of a slender elegance of form that was ravishing. She was gowned, too, with a chic nicety to arouse the envy of all less-fortunate women. Her costume had about it an indubitable air, a finality of perfection in its kind. On another, it might have appeared perhaps the merest trifle garish. But that fault, if in fact it ever existed, was made into a virtue by the correcting innocence of the girl's face. It was a childish face, childish in the exquisite smoothness of the soft, pink skin, childish in the wondering stare of the blue eyes, now so widely opened in dismay, childish in the wistful drooping of the rosebud mouth.
The girl advanced slowly, with a laggard hesitation in her movements obviously from fear. She approached the desk, from behind which the Inspector watched, fascinated by the fresh and wholesome beauty of this young creature. He failed to observe the underlying anger beneath the girl's outward display of alarm. He shook off his first impression by means of a resort to his customary bluster in such cases.
"Now, then, my girl," he said roughly, "I want to know----"
There came a change, wrought in the twinkling of an eye. The tiny, trimly shod foot of the girl rose and fell in a wrathful stamp.
"How dare you!" The clear blue eyes were become darkened with anger. There was a deepened leaf of red in either cheek. The drooping lips drooped no longer, but were bent to a haughtiness that was finely impressive.
Before the offended indignation of the young woman, Burke sat bewildered by embarrassment for once in his life, and quite at a loss.
"What's that?" he said, dubiously.