"He's trying to shield her."
"He's a loyal kid, at that," Burke commented, with a grudging admiration."I'll say that much for him." His expression grew morose, as again he pressed the button on his desk."And now,"he vouchsafed, "I'll show you the difference." Then, as the doorman reappeared, he gave his order: "Dan, have the Turner woman brought up." He regarded the two men with his bristling brows pulled down in a scowl."I'll have to try a different game with her," he said, thoughtfully."She sure is one clever little dame.But, if she didn't do it herself, she knows who did, all right." Again, Burke's voice took on its savage note."And some one's got to pay for killing Griggs.I don't have to explain why to Mr.Demarest, but to you, Mr.Gilder.You see, it's this way:
The very foundations of the work done by this department rest on the use of crooks, who are willing to betray their pals for coin.
I told you a bit about it last night.Now, you understand, if Griggs's murder goes unpunished, it'll put the fear of God into the heart of every stool-pigeon we employ.And then where'd we be? Tell me that!"The Inspector next called his stenographer, and gave explicit directions.At the back of the room, behind the desk, were three large windows, which opened on a corridor, and across this was a tier of cells.The stenographer was to take his seat in this corridor, just outside one of the windows.Over the windows, the shades were drawn, so that he would remain invisible to any one within the office, while yet easily able to overhear every word spoken in the room.
When he had completed his instructions to the stenographer, Burke turned to Gilder and Demarest.
"Now, this time," he said energetically, "I'll be the one to do the talking.And get this: Whatever you hear me say, don't you be surprised.Remember, we're dealing with crooks, and, when you're dealing with crooks, you have to use crooked ways."There was a brief period of silence.Then, the door opened, and Mary Turner entered the office.She walked slowly forward, moving with the smooth strength and grace that were the proof of perfect health and of perfect poise, the correlation of mind and body in exactness.Her form, clearly revealed by the clinging evening dress, was a curving group of graces.The beauty of her face was enhanced, rather than lessened, by the pallor of it, for the fading of the richer colors gave to the fine features an expression more spiritual, made plainer the underlying qualities that her accustomed brilliance might half-conceal.She paid absolutely no attention to the other two in the room, but went straight to the desk, and there halted, gazing with her softly penetrant eyes of deepest violet into the face of the Inspector.
Under that intent scrutiny, Burke felt a challenge, set himself to match craft with craft.He was not likely to undervalue the wits of one who had so often flouted him, who, even now, had placed him in a preposterous predicament by this entanglement over the death of a spy.But he was resolved to use his best skill to disarm her sophistication.His large voice was modulated to kindliness as he spoke in a casual manner.
"I just sent for you to tell you that you're free."Mary regarded the speaker with an impenetrable expression.Her tones as she spoke were quite as matter-of-fact as his own had been.In them was no wonder, no exultation.
"Then, I can go," she said, simply.
"Sure, you can go," Burke replied, amiably.
Without any delay, yet without any haste, Mary glanced toward Gilder and Demarest, who were watching the scene closely.Her eyes were somehow appraising, but altogether indifferent.Then, she went toward the outer door of the office, still with that almost lackadaisical air.
Burke waited rather impatiently until she had nearly reached the door before he shot his bolt, with a fine assumption of carelessness in the announcement.
"Garson has confessed!"
Mary, who readily enough had already guessed the essential hypocrisy of all this play, turned and confronted the Inspector, and answered without the least trace of fear, but with the firmness of knowledge:
"Oh, no, he hasn't!"
Her attitude exasperated Burke.His voice roared out wrathfully.
"What's the reason he hasn't?"
The music in the tones of the answer was a vocal rebuke.
"Because he didn't do it." She stated the fact as one without a hint of any contradictory possibility.
"Well, he says he did it!" Burke vociferated, still more loudly.
Mary, in her turn, resorted to a bit of finesse, in order to learn whether or not Garson had been arrested.She spoke with a trace of indignation.
"But how could he have done it, when he went----" she began.
The Inspector fell a victim to her superior craft.His question came eagerly.
"Where did he go?"
Mary smiled for the first time since she had been in the room, and in that smile the Inspector realized his defeat in the first passage of this game of intrigue between them.
"You ought to know," she said, sedately, "since you have arrested him, and he has confessed."Demarest put up a hand to conceal his smile over the police official's chagrin.Gilder, staring always at this woman who had come to be his Nemesis, was marveling over the beauty and verve of the one so hating him as to plan the ruin of his life and his son's.
Burke was frantic over being worsted thus.To gain a diversion, he reverted to his familiar bullying tactics.His question burst raspingly.It was a question that had come to be constant within his brain during the last few hours, one that obsessed him, that fretted him sorely, almost beyond endurance.
"Who shot Griggs?" he shouted.
Mary rested serene in the presence of this violence.Her answer capped the climax of the officer's exasperation.
