“Could I ask you a question?” he demanded finally, with more firmness in his voice.
Garson cleared his throat with difficulty, and his voice was thick.
“I was just going to say--” he began. Then, he hesitated, and was silent, 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, had caused him to forget his own mortal danger. Where, before, he had been shuddering over thoughts of the death-house cell that might be awaiting him, 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 that his own folly, in disobedience to her command, had led up to the murder of Griggs--and to all that might come of the crime. How could he ever make amends to her? At least, he could be brave here, for her sake, if not for his own.
Burke believed that his opportunity was come.
“What made you think I wanted to know anything about her?” he questioned.
“Oh, I can't exactly say,” Garson replied carelessly, in an attempt to dissimulate his agitation. “You were up to the house, you know. Don't you see?”
“I did want to see her, that's a fact,” Burke admitted. He kept on with his writing, his head bent low. “But she wasn't at her flat. I guess she must 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 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:
“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.
“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?”