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 pa.s.sage 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.

"My husband shot a burglar," she said, languidly. And then her insolence reached its culmination in a query of her own: "Was his name Griggs?" It was done with splendid art, with a splendid mastery of her own emotions, for, even as she spoke the words, she was remembering those shuddering seconds when she had stood, only a few hours ago, gazing down at the inert bulk that had been a man.

Burke betook himself to another form of attack.

"Oh, you know better than that," he declared, truculently. "You see, we've traced the Maxim silencer. Garson himself bought it up in Hartford."

For the first time, Mary was caught off her guard.

"But he told me----" she began, then became aware of her indiscretion, and checked herself.

Burke seized on her lapse with avidity.

"What did he tell you?" he questioned, eagerly.

Now, Mary had regained her self-command, and she spoke calmly.

"He told me," she said, without a particle of hesitation, "that he had never seen one. Surely, if he had had anything of the sort, he would have shown it to me then."

"Probably he did, too!" Burke rejoined, without the least suspicion that his surly utterance touched the truth exactly. "Now, see here," he went on, trying to make his voice affable, though with small success, for he was excessively irritated by these repeated failures; "I can make it a lot easier for you if you'll talk. Come on, now! Who killed Griggs?"

Mary cast off pretense finally, and spoke malignantly.

"That's for you to find out," she said, sneering.

Burke pressed the b.u.t.ton on the desk, and, when the doorman appeared, ordered that the prisoner be returned to her cell.

But Mary stood rebellious, and spoke with a resumption of her cynical scorn.

"I suppose," she said, with a glance of contempt toward Demarest, "that it's useless for me to claim my const.i.tutional rights, and demand to see a lawyer?"

Burke, too, had cast off pretense at last.

"Yes," he agreed, with an evil smirk, "you've guessed it right, the first time."

Mary spoke to the District Attorney.

"I believe," she said, with a new dignity of bearing, "that such is my const.i.tutional right, is it not, Mr. Demarest?"

The lawyer sought no evasion of the issue. For that matter, he was coming to have an increasing respect, even admiration, for this young woman, who endured insult and ignominy with a spirit so st.u.r.dy, and met strategem with other strategem better devised. So, now, he made his answer with frank honesty.

"It is your const.i.tutional right, Miss Turner."

Mary turned her clear eyes on the Inspector, and awaited from that official a reply that was not forthcoming. Truth to tell, Burke was far from comfortable under that survey.

"Well, Inspector?" she inquired, at last.

Burke took refuge, as his wont was when too hard pressed, in a mighty bellow.

"The Const.i.tution don't go here!" It was the best he could do, and it shamed him, for he knew its weakness. Again, wrath surged in him, and it surged high. He welcomed the advent of Ca.s.sidy, who came hurrying in with a grin of satisfaction on his stolid face.

"Say, Chief," the detective said with animation, in response to Burke's glance of inquiry, "we've got Garson."

Mary's face fell, though the change of expression was almost imperceptible. Only Demarest, a student of much experience, observed the fleeting display of repressed emotion. When the Inspector took thought to look at her, she was as impa.s.sive as before. Yet, he was minded to try another ruse in his desire to defeat the intelligence of this woman.

To this end, he asked Gilder and the District Attorney to withdraw, while he should have a private conversation with the prisoner. As she listened to his request, Mary smiled again in sphinx-like fashion, and there was still on her lips an expression that caused the official a pang of doubt, when, at last, the two were left alone together, and he darted a surrept.i.tious glance toward her. Nevertheless, he pressed on his device valiantly.

"Now," he said, with a marked softening of manner, "I'm going to be your friend."

"Are you?" Mary's tone was non-committal.

"Yes," Burke declared, heartily. "And I mean it! Give up the truth about young Gilder. I know he shot Griggs, of course. But I'm not taking any stock in that burglar story--not a little bit! No court would, either.

What was really back of the killing?" Burke's eyes narrowed cunningly.

"Was he jealous of Griggs? Well, that's what he might do then. He's always been a worthless young cub. A rotten deal like this would be about his gait, I guess.... Tell me, now: Why did he shoot Eddie Griggs?"

There was coa.r.s.eness a-plenty in the Inspector's pretense, but it possessed a solitary fundamental virtue: it played on the heart of the woman whom he questioned, aroused it to wrath in defense of her mate. In a second, all poise fled from this girl whose soul was blossoming in the blest realization that a man loved her purely, unselfishly. Her words came stumblingly in their haste. Her eyes were near to black in their anger.

"He didn't kill him! He didn't kill him!" she fairly hissed. "Why, he's the most wonderful man in the world. You shan't hurt him! n.o.body shall hurt him! I'll fight to the end of my life for d.i.c.k Gilder!"

Burke was beaming joyously. At last--a long last!--his finesse had won the victory over this woman's subtleties.

"Well, that's just what I thought," he said, with smug content. "And now, then, who did shoot Griggs? We've got every one of the gang.

They're all crooks. See here," he went on, with a sudden change to the respectful in his manner, "why don't you start fresh? I'll give you every chance in the world. I'm dead on the level with you this time."