Within the Law: From the Play of Bayard Veiller

by Marvin Dana and Bayard Veiller

  CHAPTER XXII. THE TRAP THAT FAILED.

  Burke, despite his quality of heaviness, was blest with a keen sense ofhumor, against which at times his professional labors strove mutinously.In the present instance, he had failed utterly to obtain any informationof value from the girl whom he had just been examining. On the contrary,he had been befooled outrageously by a female criminal, in a manner towound deeply his professional pride. Nevertheless, he bore no grudgeagainst the adventuress. His sense of the absurd served him well, and hetook a lively enjoyment in recalling the method by which her plausiblewiles had beguiled him. He gave her a real respect for the adroitnesswith which she had deceived him--and he was not one to be readilydeceived. So, now, as the scornful maiden went out of the door under theescort of Cassidy, Burke bowed gallantly to her lithe back, and blewa kiss from his thick fingertips, in mocking reverence for her asan artist in her way. Then, he seated himself, pressed the deskcall-button, and, when he had learned that Edward Gilder was arrived,ordered that the magnate and the District Attorney be admitted, and thatthe son, also, be sent up from his cell.

  "It's a bad business, sir," Burke said, with hearty sympathy, to theshaken father, after the formal greetings that followed the entrance ofthe two men. "It's a very bad business."

  "What does he say?" Gilder questioned. There was something pitifulin the distress of this man, usually so strong and so certain of hiscourse. Now, he was hesitant in his movements, and his mellow voice camemore weakly than its wont. There was a pathetic pleading in the dulledeyes with which he regarded the Inspector.

  "Nothing!" Burke answered. "That's why I sent for you. I suppose Mr.Demarest has made the situation plain to you."

  Gilder nodded, his face miserable.

  "Yes," he has explained it to me, he said in a lifeless voice. "It'sa terrible position for my boy. But you'll release him at once, won'tyou?" Though he strove to put confidence into his words, his painfuldoubt was manifest.

  "I can't," Burke replied, reluctantly, but bluntly. "You ought not toexpect it, Mr. Gilder."

  "But," came the protest, delivered with much more spirit, "you know verywell that he didn't do it!"

  Burke shook his head emphatically in denial of the allegation.

  "I don't know anything about it--yet," he contradicted.

  The face of the magnate went white with fear.

  "Inspector," he cried brokenly, "you--don't mean--"

  Burke answered with entire candor.

  "I mean, Mr. Gilder, that you've got to make him talk. That's what Iwant you to do, for all our sakes. Will you?"

  "I'll do my best," the unhappy man replied, forlornly.

  A minute later, Dick, in charge of an officer, was brought into theroom. He was pale, a little disheveled from his hours in a cell. Hestill wore his evening clothes of the night before. His face showedclearly the deepened lines, graven by the suffering to which he had beensubjected, but there was no weakness in his expression. Instead, a newforce that love and sorrow had brought out in his character was plainlyvisible. The strength of his nature was springing to full life under thestimulus of the ordeal through which he was passing.

  The father went forward quickly, and caught Dick's hands in a mightygrip.

  "My boy!" he murmured, huskily. Then, he made a great effort, andcontrolled his emotion to some extent. "The Inspector tells me," he wenton, "that you've refused to talk--to answer his questions."

  Dick, too, winced under the pain of this meeting with his father ina situation so sinister. But he was, to some degree, apathetic fromover-much misery. Now, in reply to his father's words, he only nodded aquiet assent.

  "That wasn't wise under the circumstances," the father remonstratedhurriedly. "However, now, Demarest and I are here to protect yourinterests, so that you can talk freely." He went on with a little catchof anxiety in his voice. "Now, Dick, tell us! Who killed that man? Wemust know. Tell me."

  Burke broke in impatiently, with his blustering fashion of address.

  "Where did you get----?"

  But Demarest raised a restraining hand.

  "Wait, please!" he admonished the Inspector. "You wait a bit." He wenta step toward the young man. "Give the boy a chance," he said, and hisvoice was very friendly as he went on speaking. "Dick, I don't want tofrighten you, but your position is really a dangerous one. Your onlychance is to speak with perfect frankness. I pledge you my word, I'mtelling the truth, Dick." There was profound concern in the lawyer'sthin face, and his voice, trained to oratorical arts, was emotionallypersuasive. "Dick, my boy, I want you to forget that I'm the DistrictAttorney, and remember only that I'm an old friend of yours, and of yourfather's, who is trying very hard to help you. Surely, you can trust me.Now, Dick, tell me: Who shot Griggs?"

  There came a long pause. Burke's face was avid with desire forknowledge, with the keen expectancy of the hunter on the trail, whichwas characteristic of him in his professional work. The DistrictAttorney himself was less vitally eager, but his curiosity, as well ashis wish to escape from an embarrassing situation, showed openly onhis alert countenance. The heavy features of the father were twistinga little in nervous spasms, for to him this hour was all anguish, sincehis only son was in such horrible plight. Dick alone seemed almosttranquil, though the outward calm was belied by the flickering of hiseyelids and the occasional involuntary movement of the lips. Finally hespoke, in a cold, weary voice.

  "I shot Griggs," he said.

  Demarest realized subtly that his plea had failed, but he made ar effortto resist the impression, to take the admission at its face value.

  "Why?" he demanded.

  Dick's answer came in the like unmeaning tones, and as wearily.

  "Because I thought he was a burglar."

  The District Attorney was beginning to feel his professional pridearoused against this young man who so flagrantly repelled his attemptsto learn the truth concerning the crime that had been committed. Heresorted to familiar artifices for entangling one questioned.

  "Oh, I see!" he said, in a tone of conviction. "Now, let's go back alittle. Burke says you told him last night that you had persuaded yourwife to come over to the house, and join you there. Is that right?"

  "Yes." The monosyllable was uttered indifferently. "And, while the twoof you were talking," Demarest continued in a matter-of-fact manner. Hedid not conclude the sentence, but asked instead: "Now, tell me, Dick,just what did happen, won't you?"

  There was no reply; and, after a little interval, the lawyer resumed hisquestioning.

  "Did this burglar come into the room?"

  Dick nodded an assent.

  "And he attacked you?"

  There came another nod of affirmation.

  "And there was a struggle?"

  "Yes," Dick said, and now there was resolution in his answer.

  "And you shot him?" Demarest asked, smoothly.

  "Yes," the young man said again.

  "Then," the lawyer countered on the instant, "where did you get therevolver?"

  Dick started to answer without thought:

  "Why, I grabbed it----" Then, the significance of this crashed on hisconsciousness, and he checked the words trembling on his lips. His eyes,which had been downcast, lifted and glared on the questioner. "So," hesaid with swift hostility in his voice, "so, you're trying to trap me,too!" He shrugged his shoulders in a way he had learned abroad. "You!And you talk of friendship. I want none of such friendship."

  Demarest, greatly disconcerted, was skilled, nevertheless, indissembling, and he hid his chagrin perfectly. There was only reproachin his voice as he answered stoutly:

  "I am your friend, Dick."

  But Burke would be no longer restrained. He had listened with increasingimpatience to the diplomatic efforts of the District Attorney, which hadended in total rout. Now, he insisted on employing his own more drastic,and, as he believed, more efficacious, methods. He stood up, and spokein his most threatening manner.

  "You don't want to take us for fools, young man," he s
aid, and his bigtones rumbled harshly through the room. "If you shot Griggs in mistakefor a burglar, why did you try to hide the fact? Why did you pretendto me that you and your wife were alone in the room--when you had _that_there with you, eh? Why didn't you call for help? Why didn't youcall for the police, as any honest man would naturally under suchcircumstances?"

  The arraignment was severely logical. Dick showed his appreciation ofthe justice of it in the whitening of his face, nor did he try to answerthe charges thus hurled at him.

  The father, too, appreciated the gravity of the situation. His face wasworking, as if toward tears.

  "We're trying to save you," he pleaded, tremulously.

  Burke persisted in his vehement system of attack. Now, he again broughtout the weapon that had done Eddie Griggs to death.

  "Where'd you get this gun?" he shouted.

  Dick held his tranquil pose.

  "I won't talk any more," he answered, simply. "I must see my wifefirst." His voice became more aggressive. "I want to know what you'vedone to her."

  Burke seized on this opening.

  "Did she kill Griggs?" he questioned, roughly.

  For once, Dick was startled out of his calm.

  "No, no!" he cried, desperately.

  Burke followed up his advantage.

  "Then, who did?" he demanded, sharply. "Who did?"

  Now, however, the young man had regained his self-control. He answeredvery quietly, but with an air of finality.

  "I won't say any more until I've talked with a lawyer whom I can trust."He shot a vindictive glance toward Demarest.

  The father intervened with a piteous eagerness.

  "Dick, if you know who killed this man, you must speak to protectyourself."

  Burke's voice came viciously.

  "The gun was found on you. Don't forget that."

  "You don't seem to realize the position you're in," the father insisted,despairingly. "Think of me, Dick, my boy. If you won't speak for yourown sake, do it for mine."

  The face of the young man softened as he met his father's beseechingeyes.

  "I'm sorry, Dad," he said, very gently. "But I--well, I can't!"

  Again, Burke interposed. His busy brain was working out a new scheme forsolving this irritating problem.

  "I'm going to give him a little more time to think things over,"he said, curtly. He went back to his chair. "Perhaps he'll get tounderstand the importance of what we've been saying pretty soon." Hescowled at Dick. "Now, young man," he went on briskly, "you want to doa lot of quick thinking, and a lot of honest thinking, and, when you'reready to tell the truth, let me know."

  He pressed the button on his desk, and, as the doorman appeared,addressed that functionary.

  "Dan, have one of the men take him back. You wait outside."

  Dick, however, did not move. His voice came with a note ofdetermination.

  "I want to know about my wife. Where is she?"

  Burke disregarded the question as completely as if it had not beenuttered, and went on speaking to the doorman with a suggestion in hiswords that was effective.

  "He's not to speak to any one, you understand." Then he condescended togive his attention to the prisoner. "You'll know all about your wife,young man, when you make up your mind to tell me the truth."

  Dick gave no heed to the Inspector's statement. His eyes were fixed onhis father, and there was a great tenderness in their depths. And hespoke very softly:

  "Dad, I'm sorry!"

  The father's gaze met the son's, and the eyes of the two locked. Therewas no other word spoken. Dick turned, and followed his custodian outof the office in silence. Even after the shutting of the door behind theprisoner, the pause endured for some moments.

  Then, at last, Burke spoke to the magnate.

  "You see, Mr. Gilder, what we're up against. I can't let him go--yet!"

  The father strode across the room in a sudden access of rage.

  "He's thinking of that woman," he cried out, in a loud voice. "He'strying to shield her."

  "He's a loyal kid, at that," Burke commented, with a grudgingadmiration. "I'll say that much for him." His expression grew morose, asagain he pressed the button on his desk. "And now," he vouchsafed, "I'llshow you the difference." Then, as the doorman reappeared, he gave hisorder: "Dan, have the Turner woman brought up." He regarded the two menwith his bristling brows pulled down in a scowl. "I'll have to try adifferent game with her," he said, thoughtfully. "She sure is one cleverlittle dame. But, if she didn't do it herself, she knows who did, allright." Again, Burke's voice took on its savage note. "And some one'sgot 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 veryfoundations of the work done by this department rest on the use ofcrooks, who are willing to betray their pals for coin. I told you abit about it last night. Now, you understand, if Griggs's murdergoes unpunished, it'll put the fear of God into the heart of everystool-pigeon we employ. And then where'd we be? Tell me that!"

  The Inspector next called his stenographer, and gave explicitdirections. At the back of the room, behind the desk, were three largewindows, which opened on a corridor, and across this was a tier ofcells. The stenographer was to take his seat in this corridor, justoutside one of the windows. Over the windows, the shades were drawn, sothat he would remain invisible to any one within the office, while yeteasily able to overhear every word spoken in the room.

  When he had completed his instructions to the stenographer, Burke turnedto Gilder and Demarest.

  "Now, this time," he said energetically, "I'll be the one to do thetalking. And get this: Whatever you hear me say, don't you be surprised.Remember, we're dealing with crooks, and, when you're dealing withcrooks, you have to use crooked ways."

  There was a brief period of silence. Then, the door opened, and MaryTurner entered the office. She walked slowly forward, moving with thesmooth strength and grace that were the proof of perfect health and ofperfect poise, the correlation of mind and body in exactness. Her form,clearly revealed by the clinging evening dress, was a curving group ofgraces. The beauty of her face was enhanced, rather than lessened, bythe pallor of it, for the fading of the richer colors gave to the finefeatures an expression more spiritual, made plainer the underlyingqualities that her accustomed brilliance might half-conceal. She paidabsolutely no attention to the other two in the room, but went straightto the desk, and there halted, gazing with her softly penetrant eyes ofdeepest violet into the face of the Inspector.

  Under that intent scrutiny, Burke felt a challenge, set himself to matchcraft with craft. He was not likely to undervalue the wits of onewho had so often flouted him, who, even now, had placed him in apreposterous 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 casualmanner.

  "I just sent for you to tell you that you're free."

  Mary regarded the speaker with an impenetrable expression. Her tones asshe spoke were quite as matter-of-fact as his own had been. In them wasno 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 Gilderand Demarest, who were watching the scene closely. Her eyes were somehowappraising, but altogether indifferent. Then, she went toward the outerdoor of the office, still with that almost lackadaisical air.

  Burke waited rather impatiently until she had nearly reached the doorbefore he shot his bolt, with a fine assumption of carelessness in theannouncement.

  "Garson has confessed!"

  Mary, who readily enough had already guessed the essential hypocrisy ofall this play, turned and confronted the Inspector, and answered withoutthe 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 ofany 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 learnwhether or not Garson had been arrested. She spoke with a trace ofindignation.

  "But how could he have done it, when he went----" she began.

  The Inspector fell a victim to her superior craft. His question cameeagerly.

  "Where did he go?"

  Mary smiled for the first time since she had been in the room, and inthat smile the Inspector realized his defeat in the first passage ofthis 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'schagrin. Gilder, staring always at this woman who had come to be hisNemesis, was marveling over the beauty and verve of the one so hatinghim as to plan the ruin of his life and his son's.

  Burke was frantic over being worsted thus. To gain a diversion, hereverted to his familiar bullying tactics. His question burst raspingly.It was a question that had come to be constant within his brain duringthe 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 cappedthe climax of the officer's exasperation.

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

  Burke betook himself to another form of attack.

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

  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 hadnever seen one. Surely, if he had had anything of the sort, he wouldhave shown it to me then."

  "Probably he did, too!" Burke rejoined, without the least suspicion thathis surly utterance touched the truth exactly. "Now, see here," he wenton, trying to make his voice affable, though with small success, for hewas excessively irritated by these repeated failures; "I can make it alot 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 button 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 cynicalscorn.

  "I suppose," she said, with a glance of contempt toward Demarest, "thatit's useless for me to claim my constitutional rights, and demand to seea lawyer?"

  Burke, too, had cast off pretense at last.

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

  Mary spoke to the District Attorney.

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

  The lawyer sought no evasion of the issue. For that matter, he wascoming to have an increasing respect, even admiration, for this youngwoman, who endured insult and ignominy with a spirit so sturdy, andmet strategem with other strategem better devised. So, now, he made hisanswer with frank honesty.

  "It is your constitutional right, Miss Turner."

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

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

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

  "The Constitution don't go here!" It was the best he could do, and itshamed him, for he knew its weakness. Again, wrath surged in him, andit surged high. He welcomed the advent of Cassidy, who came hurrying inwith a grin of satisfaction on his stolid face.

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

  Mary's face fell, though the change of expression was almostimperceptible. Only Demarest, a student of much experience, observed thefleeting display of repressed emotion. When the Inspector took thoughtto look at her, she was as impassive as before. Yet, he was minded totry 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 shelistened to his request, Mary smiled again in sphinx-like fashion, andthere was still on her lips an expression that caused the official apang of doubt, when, at last, the two were left alone together, and hedarted a surreptitious glance toward her. Nevertheless, he pressed onhis device valiantly.

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

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

  "Yes," Burke declared, heartily. "And I mean it! Give up the truth aboutyoung Gilder. I know he shot Griggs, of course. But I'm not taking anystock 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'salways been a worthless young cub. A rotten deal like this wouldbe about his gait, I guess.... Tell me, now: Why did he shoot EddieGriggs?"

  There was coarseness a-plenty in the Inspector's pretense, but itpossessed a solitary fundamental virtue: it played on the heart of thewoman whom he questioned, aroused it to wrath in defense of her mate. Ina second, all poise fled from this girl whose soul was blossoming in theblest realization that a man loved her purely, unselfishly. Her wordscame stumblingly in their haste. Her eyes were near to black in theiranger.

  "He didn't kill him! He didn't kill him!" she fairly hissed. "Why, he'sthe most wonderful man in the world. You shan't hurt him! Nobody shallhurt him! I'll fight to the end of my life for Dick Gilder!"

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

  "Well, that's just what I thought," he said, with smug content. "Andnow, 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 therespectful in his manner, "why don't you start fresh? I'll give youevery chance in the world. I'm dead on the level with you this time."

  But he was too late. By now, Mary had herself well in hand again, vastlyashamed of the short period of self-betrayal caused by the official'sartifice against her heart. As she listened to the Inspector'sassurances, the mocking expression of her face was not encouraging tothat astute individual, but he persevered manfully.

  "Just you wait," he went on cheerfully, "and I'll prove to you that I'mon the level about this, that I'm really your friend.... There was aletter came for you to your apartment. My men brought it down to me.I've read it. Here it is. I'll read it to you!"

  He picked up an envelope, which had been lying on the desk, and drew outthe single sheet of paper it contained. Mary watched him, wondering muchmore than her expression revealed over this new development. Then, asshe listened, quick interest touched her features to a new life. In hereyes leaped emotions to make or mar a life.

  This
was the letter:

  "I can't go without telling you how sorry I am. There won't never be atime that I won't remember it was me got you sent up, that you did timein my place. I ain't going to forgive myself ever, and I swear I'm goingstraight always.

  "Your true friend,

  "HELEN MORRIS."

  For once, Burke showed a certain delicacy. When he had finished thereading, he said nothing for a long minute--only, sat with his cunningeyes on the face of the woman who was immobile there before him. And,as he looked on her in her slender elegance of form and gentlewomanlyloveliness of face, a loveliness intelligent and refined beyond that ofmost women, he felt borne in on his consciousness the fact that herewas one to be respected. He fought against the impression. It was to himpreposterous, for she was one of that underworld against which he wasruthlessly at war. Yet, he could not altogether overcome his instincttoward a half-reverent admiration.... And, as the letter proved, shehad been innocent at the outset. She had been the victim of a mistakenjustice, made outcast by the law she had never wronged.... His mood ofrespect was inevitable, since he had some sensibilities, though theywere coarsened, and they sensed vaguely the maelstrom of emotions thatnow swirled in the girl's breast.

  To Mary Turner, this was the wonderful hour. In it, the vindication ofher innocence was made complete. The story was there recorded in blackand white on the page written by Helen Morris. It mattered little--orinfinitely much!--that it came too late. She had gained her evil placein the world, was a notorious woman in fact, was even now a prisonerunder suspicion of murder. Nevertheless, she felt a thrill of ecstasyover this written document--which it had never occurred to her to wrestfrom the girl at the time of the oral confession. Now that it had beenproffered, the value of it loomed above almost all things else in theworld. It proclaimed undeniably the wrong under which she had suffered.She was not the thief the court had adjudged her. "Now, there's nobodyhere but just you and me. Come on, now--put me wise!"

  Mary was again the resourceful woman who was glad to pit her brainagainst the contriving of those who fought her. So, at this moment, sheseemed pliant to the will of the man who urged her thus cunningly. Herquick glance around the office was of a sort to delude the Inspectorinto a belief that she was yielding to his lure.

  "Are you sure no one will ever know?" she asked, timorously.

  "Nobody but you and me," Burke declared, all agog with anticipation ofvictory at last. "I give you my word!"

  Mary met the gaze of the Inspector fully. In the same instant,she flashed on him a smile that was dazzling, the smile of a womantriumphant in her mastery of the situation. Her face was radiant,luminous with honest mirth. There was something simple and genuinein her beauty that thrilled the man before her, the man trying sovindictively to trap her to her own undoing. For all his grossness,Burke was of shrewd perceptions, and somewhere, half-submerged underthe sordid nature of his calling, was a love of things esthetic, aresponsiveness to the appeals of beauty. Now, as his glance searchedthe face of the girl who was bubbling with mirth, he experienced an oddwarming of his heart under the spell of her loveliness--a lovelinesswholly feminine, pervasive, wholesome. But, too, his soul shook in apremonition of catastrophe, for there was mischief in the beaming eyesof softest violet. There was a demon of mockery playing in the curves ofthe scarlet lips, as she smiled so winsomely.

  All his apprehensions were verified by her utterance. It came in a mostcasual voice, despite the dancing delight in her face. The tones weredrawled in the matter-of-fact fashion of statement that leads a listenerto answer without heed to the exact import of the question, unless veryalert, indeed.... This is what she said in that so-casual voice:

  "I'm not speaking loud enough, am I, stenographer?"

  And that industrious writer of shorthand notes, absorbed in his task,answered instantly from his hidden place in the corridor.

  "No, ma'am, not quite."

  Mary laughed aloud, while Burke sat dumfounded. She rose swiftly, andwent to the nearest window, and with a pull at the cord sent the shadeflying upward. For seconds, there was revealed the busy stenographer,bent over his pad. Then, the noise of the ascending shade, which hadbeen hammering on his consciousness, penetrated, and he looked up.Realization came, as he beheld the woman laughing at him through thewindow. Consternation beset him. He knew that, somehow, he had bungledfatally. A groan of distress burst from him, and he fled the place inignominious rout.

  There was another whose spirit was equally desirous of flight--Burke!Yet once again, he was beaten at his own game, his cunning made of noavail against the clever interpretation of this woman whom he assailed.He had no defense to offer. He did not care to meet her gaze justthen, since he was learning to respect her as one wronged, where hehad regarded her hitherto merely as of the flotsam and jetsam of thecriminal class. So, he avoided her eyes as she stood by the windowregarding him quizzically. In a panic of confusion quite new to him inhis years of experience, he pressed the button on his desk.

  The doorman appeared with that automatic precision which made himvaluable in his position, and the Inspector hailed the ready presencewith a feeling of profound relief.

  "Dan, take her back!" he said, feebly.

  Mary was smiling still as she went to the door. But she could not resistthe impulse toward retort.

  "Oh, yes," she said, suavely; "you were right on the level with me,weren't you, Burke? Nobody here but you and me!" The words came in asing-song of mockery.

  The Inspector had nothing in the way of answer--only, sat motionlessuntil the door closed after her. Then, left alone, his sole audiblecomment was a single word--one he had learned, perhaps, from AggieLynch:

  "Hell!"