Within the Law: From the Play of Bayard Veiller

by Marvin Dana and Bayard Veiller

  CHAPTER XXIII. THE CONFESSION.

  Burke was a persistent man, and he had set himself to getting themurderer of Griggs. Foiled in his efforts thus far by the oppositionof Mary, he now gave himself over to careful thought as to a meansof procedure that might offer the best possibilities of success. Hisbeetling brows were drawn in a frown of perplexity for a full quarterof an hour, while he rested motionless in his chair, an unlightedcigar between his lips. Then, at last, his face cleared; a grin ofsatisfaction twisted his heavy mouth, and he smote the desk joyously.

  "It's a cinch it'll get 'im!" he rumbled, in glee.

  He pressed the button-call, and ordered the doorman to send in Cassidy.When the detective appeared a minute later, he went directly to hissubject with a straightforward energy usual to him in his work.

  "Does Garson know we've arrested the Turner girl and young Gilder?" And,when he had been answered in the negative: "Or that we've got ChicagoRed and Dacey here?"

  "No," Cassidy replied. "He hasn't been spoken to since we made thecollar.... He seems worried," the detective volunteered.

  Burke's broad jowls shook from the force with which he snapped his jawstogether.

  "He'll be more worried before I get through with him!" he growled.He regarded Cassidy speculatively. "Do you remember the Third DegreeInspector Burns worked on McGloin? Well," he went on, as the detectivenodded assent, "that's what I'm going to do to Garson. He's gotimagination, that crook! The things he don't know about are the thingshe's afraid of. After he gets in here, I want you to take his pals oneafter the other, and lock them up in the cells there in the corridor.The shades on the corridor windows here will be up, and Garson will seethem taken in. The fact of their being there will set his imagination toworking overtime, all right."

  Burke reflected for a moment, and then issued the final directions forthe execution of his latest plot.

  "When you get the buzzer from me, you have young Gilder and the Turnerwoman sent in. Then, after a while, you'll get another buzzer. When youhear that, come right in here, and tell me that the gang has squealed.I'll do the rest. Bring Garson here in just five minutes.... Tell Dan tocome in."

  As the detective went out, the doorman promptly entered, and thereatBurke proceeded with the further instructions necessary to the carryingout of his scheme.

  "Take the chairs out of the office, Dan," he directed, "except mine andone other--that one!" He indicated a chair standing a little way fromone end of his desk. "Now, have all the shades up." He chuckled as headded: "That Turner woman saved you the trouble with one."

  As the doorman went out after having fulfilled these commands, theInspector lighted the cigar which he had retained still in his mouth,and then seated himself in the chair that was set partly facing thewindows opening on the corridor. He smiled with anticipatory triumph ashe made sure that the whole length of the corridor with the barreddoors of the cells was plainly visible to one sitting thus. With a finalglance about to make certain that all was in readiness, he returned tohis chair, and, when the door opened, he was, to all appearances, busilyengaged in writing.

  "Here's Garson, Chief," Cassidy announced.

  "Hello, Joe!" Burke exclaimed, with a seeming of careless friendliness,as the detective went out, and Garson stood motionless just within thedoor.

  "Sit down, a minute, won't you?" the Inspector continued, affably. Hedid not look up from his writing as he spoke.

  Garson's usually strong face was showing weak with fear. His chin, whichwas commonly very firm, moved a little from uneasy twitchings of hislips. His clear eyes were slightly clouded to a look of apprehension,as they roved the room furtively. He made no answer to the Inspector'sgreeting for a few moments, but remained standing without movement,poised alertly as if sensing some concealed peril. Finally, however,his anxiety found expression in words. His tone was pregnant with alarm,though he strove to make it merely complaining.

  "Say, what am I arrested for?" he protested. "I ain't done anything."

  Even now, Burke did not look up, and his pen continued to hurry over thepaper.

  "Who told you you were arrested?" he remarked, cheerfully, in hisblandest voice.

  Garson uttered an ejaculation of disgust.

  "I don't have to be told," he retorted, huffily. "I'm no collegepresident, but, when a cop grabs me and brings me down here, I've gotsense enough to know I'm pinched."

  The Inspector did not interrupt his work, but answered with the utmostgood nature.

  "Is that what they did to you, Joe? I'll have to speak to Cassidy aboutthat. Now, just you sit down, Joe, won't you? I want to have a littletalk with you. I'll be through here in a second." He went on with thewriting.

  Garson moved forward slightly, to the single chair near the end of thedesk, and there seated himself mechanically. His face thus was turnedtoward the windows that gave on the corridor, and his eyes grew yet moreclouded as they rested on the grim doors of the cells. He writhed in hischair, and his gaze jumped from the cells to the impassive figure ofthe man at the desk. Now, the forger's nervousness increased momently itswept beyond his control. Of a sudden, he sprang up, and stepped closeto the Inspector.

  "Say," he said, in a husky voice, "I'd like--I'd like to have a lawyer."

  "What's the matter with you, Joe?" the Inspector returned, always withthat imperturbable air, and without raising his head from the work thatso engrossed his attention. "You know, you're not arrested, Joe. Maybe,you never will be. Now, for the love of Mike, keep still, and let mefinish this letter."

  Slowly, very hesitatingly, Garson went back to the chair, and sankdown on it in a limp attitude of dejection wholly unlike his customarypostures of strength. Again, his fear-fascinated eyes went to the rowof cells that stood silently menacing on the other side of the corridorbeyond the windows. His face was tinged with gray. A physical sicknesswas creeping stealthily on him, as his thoughts held insistently to thecatastrophe that threatened. His intelligence was too keen to permita belief that Burke's manner of almost fulsome kindliness hid nothingominous--ominous with a hint of death for him in return for the death hehad wrought.

  Then, terror crystallized. His eyes were caught by a figure, the figureof Cassidy, advancing there in the corridor. And with the detectivewent a man whose gait was slinking, craven. A cell-door swung open, theprisoner stepped within, the door clanged to, the bolts shot into theirsockets noisily.

  Garson sat huddled, stricken--for he had recognized the victim thrustinto the cell before his eyes.... It was Dacey, one of his own croniesin crime--Dacey, who, the night before, had seen him kill Eddie Griggs.There was something concretely sinister to Garson in this fact ofDacey's presence there in the cell.

  Of a sudden, the forger cried out raucously:

  "Say, Inspector, if you've got anything on me, I--I would----" The crydropped into unintelligible mumblings.

  Burke retained his manner of serene indifference to the other'sagitation. Still, his pen hurried over the paper; and he did not troubleto look up as he expostulated, half-banteringly.

  "Now, now! What's the matter with you, Joe? I told you that I wanted toask you a few questions. That's all."

  Garson leaped to his feet again resolutely, then faltered, andultimately fell back into the chair with a groan, as the Inspector wenton speaking.

  "Now, Joe, sit down, and keep still, I tell you, and let me get throughwith this job. It won't take me more than a minute more."

  But, after a moment, Garson's emotion forced hint to another appeal.

  "Say, Inspector----" he began.

  Then, abruptly, he was silent, his mouth still open to utter the wordsthat were now held back by horror. Again, he saw the detective walkingforward, out there in the corridor. And with him, as before, was asecond figure, which advanced slinkingly. Garson leaned forward in hischair, his head thrust out, watching in rigid suspense. Again, evenas before, the door swung wide, the prisoner slipped within, the doorclanged shut, the bolts clattered noisily into their sockets.

 
And, in the watcher, terror grew--for he had seen the face of ChicagoRed, another of his pals, another who had seen him kill Griggs. For atime that seemed to him long ages of misery, Garson sat staring dazedlyat the closed doors of the tier of cells. The peril about him wasgrowing--growing, and it was a deadly peril! At last, he licked his drylips, and his voice broke in a throaty whisper.

  "Say, Inspector, if you've got anything against me, why----"

  "Who said there was anything against you, Joe?" Burke rejoined, in avoice that was genially chiding. "What's the matter with you to-day,Joe? You seem nervous." Still, the official kept on with his writing.

  "No, I ain't nervous," Garson cried, with a feverish effort to appearcalm. "Why, what makes you think that? But this ain't exactly the placeyou'd pick out as a pleasant one to spend the morning." He was silentfor a little, trying with all his strength to regain his self-control,but with small success.

  "Could I ask you a question?" he demanded finally, with more firmness inhis voice.

  "What is it?" Burke said.

  Garson cleared his throat with difficulty, and his voice was thick.

  "I was just going to say--" he began. Then, he hesitated, and wassilent, at a loss.

  "Well, what is it, Joe?" the Inspector prompted.

  "I was going to say--that is--well, if it's anything about Mary Turner,I don't know a thing--not a thing!"

  It was the thought of possible peril to her that now, in an instant, hadcaused him to forget his own mortal danger. Where, before, he had beenshuddering over thoughts of the death-house cell that might be awaitinghim, he now had concern only for the safety of the woman he cherished.And there was a great grief in his soul; for it was borne in on him thathis own folly, in disobedience to her command, had led up to the murderof Griggs--and to all that might come of the crime. How could he evermake amends to her? At least, he could be brave here, for her sake, ifnot for his own.

  Burke believed that his opportunity was come.

  "What made you think I wanted to know anything about her?" hequestioned.

  "Oh, I can't exactly say," Garson replied carelessly, in an attempt todissimulate his agitation. "You were up to the house, you know. Don'tyou see?"

  "I did want to see her, that's a fact," Burke admitted. He kept on withhis writing, his head bent low. "But she wasn't at her flat. I guess shemust have taken my advice, and skipped out. Clever girl, that!"

  Garson contrived to present an aspect of comparative indifference.

  "Yes," he agreed. "I was thinking of going West, myself," he ventured.

  "Oh, were you?" Burke exclaimed; and, now, there was a new note inhis voice. His hand slipped into the pocket where was the pistol, andclutched it. He stared at Garson fiercely, and spoke with a rush of thewords:

  "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 toswallow 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 theinstant, 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 lastthe crisis was upon him. He got to his feet with lithe swiftnessof movement, and sprang close to the desk. He bent his head forwardchallengingly, to meet the glare of his accuser's eyes. There was noflinching in his own steely stare. His nerves had ceased their janglingunder the tautening of necessity.

  "You did!" Burke vociferated. He put his whole will into the assertionof guilt, to batter down the man's resistance. "You did, I tell you! Youdid!"

  Garson leaned still further forward, until his face was almost levelwith the Inspector's. His eyes were unclouded now, were blazing. Hisvoice 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, willwarring against will.... In the end, it was the murderer who triumphed.

  Suddenly, Burke dropped the pistol into his pocket, and lolled back inhis chair. His gaze fell away from the man confronting him. In the sameinstant, the rigidity of Garson's form relaxed, and he straightenedslowly. A tide of secret joy swept through him, as he realized hisvictory. 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 theInspector'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 canbet on that!"

  Garson resisted the lure.

  "If you don't want me----" he began suggestively; and he turned towardthe door to the outer hall. "Why, if you don't want me, I'll--getalong."

  "Oh, what's the hurry, Joe?" Burke retorted, with the effect of stoppingthe 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 himwith appalling force. Of what avail his safety, if she were still inperil?

  "I don't know where she was," he exclaimed, doubtfully. He realized hisblunder even as the words left his lips, and sought to correct it asbest he might. "Why, yes, I do, too," he went on, as if assailed bysudden memory. "I dropped into her place kind of late, and they saidshe'd gone to bed--headache, I guess.... Yes, she was home, of course.She didn't go out of the house, all night." His insistence on the pointwas of itself suspicious, but eagerness to protect her stultified hiswits.

  Burke sat grim and silent, offering no comment on the lie.

  "Know anything about young Gilder?" he demanded. "Happen to know wherehe is now?" He arose and came around the desk, so that he stood close toGarson, at whom he glowered.

  "Not a thing!" was the earnest answer. But the speaker's fear roseswiftly, for the linking of these names was significant--frightfullysignificant!

  The inner door opened, and Mary Turner entered the office. Garson withdifficulty suppressed the cry of distress that rose to his lips. Fora few moments, the silence was unbroken. Then, presently, Burke, by agesture, directed the girl to advance toward the center of the room.As she obeyed, he himself went a little toward the door, and, when itopened again, and Dick Gilder appeared, he interposed to check the youngman's rush forward as his gaze fell on his bride, who stood regardinghim with sad eyes.

  Garson stared mutely at the burly man in uniform who held theirdestinies in the hollow of a hand. His lips parted as if he were aboutto speak. Then, he bade defiance to the impulse. He deemed it safer forall that he should say nothing--now!... And it is very easy to saya word too many. And that one may be a word never to be unsaid--orgainsaid.

  Then, while still that curious, dynamic silence endured, Cassidy camebriskly into the office. By some magic of duty, he had contrived to givehis 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 voicecame smug:

  "Squealed, eh?" His glance ran over Garson for a second, then madeits inquisition of Mary and of Dick Gilder. He did not give a look toCassidy as he put his question. "Do they tell the same story?" And then,when the detective had answered in the affirmative, he went on speakingin tones ponderous with self-complacency; and, now, his eyes heldsharply, craftily, on the woman.

  "I was right then, after all--right, all the time! Good enough!" Ofa sudden, his voice boomed somberly. "Mary Turner, I want you for themurder of----"

  Garson's rush halted the sentence. He had leaped forward. His face wasrigid. He broke on the Inspector's words with a gesture of fury. Hisvoice
came in a hiss:

  "That's a damned lie!... I did it!"

  CHAPTER XXIV. ANGUISH AND BLISS.

  Joe Garson had shouted his confession without a second of reflection.But the result must have been the same had he taken years of thought.Between him and her as the victim of the law, there could be nohesitation for choice. Indeed, just now, he had no heed to his own fate.The prime necessity was to save her, Mary, from the toils of the lawthat were closing around her. For himself, in the days to come, therewould be a ghastly dread, but there would never be regret over thecost of saving her. Perhaps, some other he might have let suffer in hisstead--not her! Even, had he been innocent, and she guilty of the crime,he would still have taken the burden of it on his own shoulders. He hadsaved her from the waters--he would save her until the end, as faras the power in him might lie. It was thus that, with the primitivedirectness of his reverential love for the girl, he counted no sacrificetoo great in her behalf. Joe Garson was not a good man, at the worldesteems goodness. On the contrary, he was distinctly an evil one,a menace to the society on which he preyed constantly. But his goodqualities, if few, were of the strongest fiber, rooted in the deeps ofhim. He loathed treachery. His one guiltiness in this respect had been,curiously enough, toward Mary herself, in the scheme of the burglary,which she had forbidden. But, in the last analysis, here his deceithad been designed to bring affluence to her. It was his abhorrenceof treachery among pals that had driven him to the murder of thestool-pigeon in a fit of ungovernable passion. He might have stayed hishand then, but for the gusty rage that swept him on to the crime. Nonethe less, had he spared the man, his hatred of the betrayer would havebeen the same.... And the other virtue of Joe Garson was the complementof this--his own loyalty, a loyalty that made him forget self utterlywhere he loved. The one woman who had ever filled his heart was Mary,and for her his life were not too much to give.

  The suddenness of it all held Mary voiceless for long seconds. She wasfrozen with horror of the event.

  When, at last, words came, they were a frantic prayer of protest.

  "No, Joe! No! Don't talk--don't talk!"

  Burke, immensely gratified, went nimbly to his chair, and thencesurveyed the agitated group with grisly pleasure.

  "Joe has talked," he said, significantly.

  Mary, shaken as she was by the fact of Garson's confession, neverthelessretained her presence of mind sufficiently to resist with all herstrength.

  "He did it to protect me," she stated, earnestly.

  The Inspector disdained such futile argument. As the doorman appeared inanswer to the buzzer, he directed that the stenographer be summoned atonce.

  "We'll have the confession in due form," he remarked, gazing pleasedlyon the three before him.

  "He's not going to confess," Mary insisted, with spirit.

  But Burke was not in the least impressed. He disregarded her completely,and spoke mechanically to Garson the formal warning required by the law.

  "You are hereby cautioned that anything you say may be used againstyou." Then, as the stenographer entered, he went on with livelyinterest. "Now, Joe!"

  Yet once again, Mary protested, a little wildly.

  "Don't speak, Joe! Don't say a word till we can get a lawyer for you!"

  The man met her pleading eyes steadily, and shook his head in refusal.

  "It's no use, my girl," Burke broke in, harshly. "I told you I'dget you. I'm going to try you and Garson, and the whole gang formurder--yes, every one of you.... And you, Gilder," he continued,lowering on the young man who had defied him so obstinately, "you'll goto the House of Detention as a material witness." He turned his gaze toGarson again, and spoke authoritatively: "Come on now, Joe!"

  Garson went a step toward the desk, and spoke decisively.

  "If I come through, you'll let her go--and him?" he added as anafterthought, with a nod toward Dick Gilder.

  "Oh, Joe, don't!" Mary cried, bitterly. "We'll spend every dollar we canraise to save you!"

  "Now, it's no use," the Inspector complained. "You're only wasting time.He's said that he did it. That's all there is to it. Now that we're surehe's our man, he hasn't got a chance in the world."

  "Well, how about it?" Garson demanded, savagely. "Do they go clear, if Icome through?"

  "We'll get the best lawyers in the country," Mary persisted,desperately. "We'll save you, Joe--we'll save you!"

  Garson regarded the distraught girl with wistful eyes. But there wasno trace of yielding in his voice as he replied, though he spoke verysorrowfully.

  "No, you can't help me," he said, simply. "My time has come, Mary....And I can save you a lot of trouble."

  "He's right there," Burke ejaculated. "We've got him cold. So, what'sthe use of dragging you two into it?"

  "Then, they go clear?" Garson exclaimed, eagerly. "They ain't even to becalled as witnesses?"

  Burke nodded assent.

  "You're on!" he agreed.

  "Then, here goes!" Garson cried; and he looked expectantly toward thestenographer.

  The strain of it all was sapping the will of the girl, who saw the manshe so greatly esteemed for his service to her and his devotion aboutto condemn himself to death. She grew half-hysterical. Her words cameconfusedly:

  "No, Joe! No, no, no!"

  Again, Garson shook his head in absolute refusal of her plea.

  "There's no other way out," he declared, wearily. "I'm goingthrough with it." He straightened a little, and again looked at thestenographer. His voice came quietly, without any tremulousnesss.

  "My name is Joe Garson."

  "Alias?" Burke suggested.

  "Alias nothing!" came the sharp retort. "Garson's my monaker. I shotEnglish Eddie, because he was a skunk, and a stool-pigeon, and he gotjust what was coming to him." Vituperation beyond the mere words beat inhis voice now.

  Burke twisted uneasily in his chair.

  "Now, now!" he objected, severely. "We can't take a confession likethat."

  Garson shook his head--spoke with fiercer hatred, "because he was askunk, and a stool-pigeon," he repeated. "Have you got it?" And then, asthe stenographer nodded assent, he went on, less violently: "I croakedhim just as he was going to call the bulls with a police-whistle. I useda gun with smokeless powder. It had a Maxim silencer on it, so that itdidn't make any noise."

  Garson paused, and the set despair of his features lightened a little.Into his voice came a tone of exultation indescribably ghastly. Itwas born of the eternal egotism of the criminal, fattening vanity ingloating over his ingenuity for evil. Garson, despite his two greatvirtues, had the vices of his class. Now, he stared at Burke with aquizzical grin crooking his lips.

  "Say," he exclaimed, "I'll bet it's the first time a guy was evercroaked with one of them things! Ain't it?"

  The Inspector nodded affirmation. There was sincere admiration inhis expression, for he was ready at all times to respect the personalabilities of the criminals against whom he waged relentless war.

  "That's right, Joe!" he said, with perceptible enthusiasm.

  "Some class to that, eh?" Garson demanded, still with that gruesome airof boasting. "I got the gun, and the Maxim-silencer thing, off a fencein Boston," he explained. "Say, that thing cost me sixty dollars, andit's worth every cent of the money.... Why, they'll remember me as thefirst to spring one of them things, won't they?"

  "They sure will, Joe!" the Inspector conceded.

  "Nobody knew I had it," Garson continued, dropping his braggart mannerabruptly.

  At the words, Mary started, and her lips moved as if she were about tospeak.

  Garson, intent on her always, though he seemed to look only at Burke,observed the effect on her, and repeated his words swiftly, with awarning emphasis that gave the girl pause.

  "Nobody knew I had it--nobody in the world!" he declared. "And nobodyhad anything to do with the killing but me."

  Burke put a question that was troubling him much, concerning the motivethat lay behind the shooting of Griggs.

  "
Was there any bad feeling between you and Eddie Griggs?"

  Garson's reply was explicit.

  "Never till that very minute. Then, I learned the truth about whathe'd framed up with you." The speaker's voice reverted to its formerfierceness in recollection of the treachery of one whom he had trusted.

  "He was a stool-pigeon, and I hated his guts! That's all," he concluded,with brutal candor.

  The Inspector moved restlessly in his chair. He had only detestationfor the slain man, yet there was something morbidly distasteful in thethought that he himself had contrived the situation which had resultedin the murder of his confederate. It was only by an effort that he shookoff the vague feeling of guilt.

  "Nothing else to say?" he inquired.

  Garson reflected for a few seconds, then made a gesture of negation.

  "Nothing else," he declared. "I croaked him, and I'm glad I done it. Hewas a skunk. That's all, and it's enough. And it's all true, so help meGod!"

  The Inspector nodded dismissal to the stenographer, with an air ofrelief.

  "That's all, Williams," he said, heavily. "He'll sign it as soon asyou've transcribed the notes."

  Then, as the stenographer left the room, Burke turned his gaze on thewoman, who stood there in a posture of complete dejection, her white,anguished face downcast. There was triumph in the Inspector's voiceas he addressed her, for his professional pride was full-fed by thisvictory over his foes. But there was, too, an undertone of a feelingsofter than pride, more generous, something akin to real commiserationfor this unhappy girl who drooped before him, suffering so poignantlyin the knowledge of the fate that awaited the man who had saved her, whohad loved her so unselfishly.

  "Young woman," Burke said briskly, "it's just like I told you. You can'tbeat the law. Garson thought he could--and now----!" He broke off, witha wave of his hand toward the man who had just sentenced himself todeath in the electric-chair.

  "That's right," Garson agreed, with somber intensity. His eyes weregrown clouded again now, and his voice dragged leaden. "That's right,Mary," he repeated dully, after a little pause. "You can't beat thelaw!"

  There followed a period of silence, in which great emotions were vibrantfrom heart to heart. Garson was thinking of Mary, and, with the thought,into his misery crept a little comfort. At least, she would go free.That had been in the bargain with Burke. And there was the boy, too. Hiseyes shot a single swift glance toward Dick Gilder, and his satisfactionincreased as he noted the alert poise of the young man's body, thestrained expression of the strong face, the gaze of absorbed yearningwith which he regarded Mary. There could be no doubt concerning thedepth of the lad's love for the girl. Moreover, there were manlyqualities in him to work out all things needful for her protectionthrough life. Already, he had proved his devotion, and that abundantly,his unswerving fidelity to her, and the force within him that made theseworthy in some measure of her.

  Garson felt no least pang of jealousy. Though he loved the woman withthe single love of his life, he had never, somehow, hoped aught forhimself. There was even something almost of the paternal in the purityof his love, as if, indeed, by the fact of restoring her to life he hadtaken on himself the responsibility of a parent. He knew that the boyworshiped her, would do his best for her, that this best would sufficefor her happiness in time. Garson, with the instinct of love, guessedthat Mary had in truth given her heart all unaware to the husband whomshe had first lured only for the lust of revenge. Garson nodded hishead in a melancholy satisfaction. His life was done: hers was justbeginning, now.... But she would remember him--oh, yes, always! Mary wasloyal.

  The man checked the trend of his thoughts by a mighty effort of will.He must not grow maudlin here. He spoke again to Mary, with a certaindignity.

  "No, you can't beat the law!" He hesitated a little, then went on, witha certain curious embarrassment. "And this same old law says a womanmust stick to her man."

  The girl's eyes met his with passionate sorrow in their misty deeps.Garson gave a significant glance toward Dick Gilder, then his gazereturned to her. There was a smoldering despair in that look. Therewere, as well, an entreaty and a command.

  "So," he went on, "you must go along with him, Mary.... Won't you? It'sthe best thing to do."

  The girl could not answer. There was a clutch on her throat just then,which would not relax at the call of her will.

  The tension of a moment grew, became pervasive. Burke, accustomed ashe was to scenes of dramatic violence, now experienced an altogetherunfamiliar thrill. As for Garson, once again the surge of feelingthreatened to overwhelm his self-control. He must not break down! ForMary's sake, he must show himself stoical, quite undisturbed in thissupreme hour.

  Of a sudden, an inspiration came to him, a means to snap the tension,to create a diversion wholly efficacious. He would turn to his boastingagain, would call upon his vanity, which he knew well as his chieffoible, and make it serve as the foil against his love. He strovemanfully to throw off the softer mood. In a measure, at least, hewon the fight--though always, under the rush of this vaunting, therethrobbed the anguish of his heart.

  "You want to cut out worrying about me," he counseled, bravely. "Why,I ain't worrying any, myself--not a little bit! You see, it's somethingnew I've pulled off. Nobody ever put over anything like it before."

  He faced Burke with a grin of gloating again.

  "I'll bet there'll be a lot of stuff in the newspapers about this, andmy picture, too, in most of 'em! What?"

  The man's manner imposed on Burke, though Mary felt the torment that hisvainglorying was meant to mask.

  "Say," Garson continued to the Inspector, "if the reporters want anypictures of me, could I have some new ones taken? The one you've got ofme in the Gallery is over ten years old. I've taken off my beard sincethen. Can I have a new one?" He put the question with an eagerness thatseemed all sincere.

  Burke answered with a fine feeling of generosity.

  "Sure, you can, Joe! I'll send you up to the Gallery right now."

  "Immense!" Garson cried, boisterously. He moved toward Dick Gilder,walking with a faint suggestion of swagger to cover the nervous tremorthat had seized him.

  "So long, young fellow!" he exclaimed, and held out his hand. "You'vebeen on the square, and I guess you always will be."

  Dick had no scruple in clasping that extended hand very warmly in hisown. He had no feeling of repulsion against this man who had committeda murder in his presence. Though he did not quite understand the other'sheart, his instinct as a lover taught him much, so that he pitiedprofoundly--and respected, too.

  "We'll do what we can for you," he said, simply.

  "That's all right," Garson replied, with such carelessness of manner ashe could contrive. Then, at last, he turned to Mary. This parting mustbe bitter, and he braced himself with all the vigors of his will tocombat the weakness that leaped from his soul.

  As he came near, the girl could hold herself in leash no longer. Shethrew herself on his breast. Her arms wreathed about his neck. Greatsobs racked her.

  "Oh, Joe, Joe!" The gasping cry was of utter despair.

  Garson's trembling hand patted the girl's shoulder very softly, a caressof infinite tenderness.

  "That's all right!" he murmured, huskily. "That's all right, Mary!"There was a short silence; and then he went on speaking, more firmly."You know, he'll look after you."

  He would have said more, but he could not. It seemed to him that thesobs of the girl caught in his own throat. Yet, presently, he stroveonce again, with every reserve of his strength; and, finally, he so farmastered himself that he could speak calmly. The words were uttered witha subtle renunciation that was this man's religion.

  "Yes, he'll take care of you. Why, I'd like to see the two of you withabout three kiddies playing round the house."

  He looked up over the girl's shoulder, and beckoned with his head toDick, who came forward at the summons.

  "Take good care of her, won't you?"

  He disengaged himself gently
from the girl's embrace, and set her withinthe arms of her husband, where she rested quietly, as if unable to fightlonger against fate's decree.

  "Well, so long!"

  He dared not utter another word, but turned blindly, and went, stumblinga little, toward the doorman, who had appeared in answer to theInspector's call.

  "To the Gallery," Burke ordered, curtly.

  Garson went on without ever a glance back.... His strength was at anend.

  * * * * *

  There was a long silence in the room after Garson's passing. It wasbroken, at last, by the Inspector, who got up from his chair, andadvanced toward the husband and wife. In his hand, he carried a sheet ofpaper, roughly scrawled. As he stopped before the two, and clearedhis throat, Mary withdrew herself from Dick's arms, and regarded theofficial with brooding eyes from out her white face. Something strangein her enemy's expression caught her attention, something that set newhopes alive within her in a fashion wholly inexplicable, so that shewaited with a sudden, breathless eagerness.

  Burke extended the sheet of paper to the husband.

  "There's a document," he said gruffly. "It's a letter from one HelenMorris, in which she sets forth the interesting fact that she pulled offa theft in the Emporium, for which your Mrs. Gilder here did time. Youknow, your father got your Mrs. Gilder sent up for three years for thatsame job--which she didn't do! That's why she had such a grudge againstyour father, and against the law, too!"

  Burke chuckled, as the young man took the paper, wonderingly.

  "I don't know that I blame her much for that grudge, when all's said anddone.... You give that document to your father. It sets her right. He'sa just man according to his lights, your father. He'll do all he can tomake things right for her, now he knows."

  Once again, the Inspector paused to chuckle.

  "I guess she'll keep within the law from now on," he continued,contentedly, "without getting a lawyer to tell her how.... Now, you twolisten. I've got to go out a minute. When I get back, I don't want tofind anybody here--not anybody! Do you get me?"

  He strode from the room, fearful lest further delay might involve himin sentimental thanksgivings from one or the other, or both--and Burkehated sentiment as something distinctly unprofessional.

  * * * * *

  When the official was gone, the two stood staring mutely each at theother through long seconds. What she read in the man's eyes set thewoman's heart to beating with a new delight. A bloom of exquisite rosegrew in the pallor of her cheeks. The misty light in the violet eyesshone more radiant, yet more softly. The crimson lips curved to strangetenderness.... What he read in her eyes set the husband's pulses tobounding. He opened his arms in an appeal that was a command. Mary wentforward slowly, without hesitation, in a bliss that forgot every sorrowfor that blessed moment, and cast herself on his breast.