"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, Iguess....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 the speaker's fear rose swiftly, for the linking of these names was significant--frightfully significant!
The inner door opened, and Mary Turner entered the office.
Garson with difficulty suppressed the cry of distress that rose to his lips.For a few moments, the silence was unbroken.Then, presently, Burke, by a gesture, directed the girl to advance toward the center of the room.As she obeyed, he himself went a little toward the door, and, when it opened again, and Dick Gilder appeared, he interposed to check the young man's rush forward as his gaze fell on his bride, who stood regarding him with sad eyes.
Garson stared mutely at the burly man in uniform who held their destinies in the hollow of a hand.His lips parted as if he were about to speak.Then, he bade defiance to the impulse.He deemed it safer for all that he should say nothing--now!...And it is very easy to say a word too many.And that one may be a word never to be unsaid--or gainsaid.
Then, while still that curious, dynamic silence endured, Cassidy came briskly into the office.By some magic of duty, he had contrived to give his usually hebetudinous features an expression of enthusiasm.
"Say, Chief," the detective said rapidly, "they've squealed!"Burke regarded his aide with an air intolerably triumphant.His voice came smug:
"Squealed, eh?" His glance ran over Garson for a second, then made its inquisition of Mary and of Dick Gilder.He did not give a look to Cassidy as he put his question."Do they tell the same story?" And then, when the detective had answered in the affirmative, he went on speaking in tones ponderous with self-complacency; and, now, his eyes held sharply, craftily, on the woman.
"I was right then, after all--right, all the time! Good enough!"Of a sudden, his voice boomed somberly."Mary Turner, I want you for the murder of----"Garson's rush halted the sentence.He had leaped forward.His face was rigid.He broke on the Inspector's words with a gesture of fury.His voice came in a hiss:
"That's a damned lie!...I did it!"
