Burke, despite his quality of heaviness, was blest with a keensense of humor, against which at times his professional laborsstrove mutinously. In the present instance, he had failedutterly to obtain any information of value from the girl whom hehad just been examining. On the contrary, he had been befooledoutrageously by a female criminal, in a manner to wound deeplyhis professional pride. Nevertheless, he bore no grudge againstthe adventuress. His sense of the absurd served him well, and hetook a lively enjoyment in recalling the method by which herplausible wiles had beguiled him. He gave her a real respect forthe adroitness with which she had deceived him--and he was notone to be readily deceived. So, now, as the scornful maiden wentout of the door under the escort of Cassidy, Burke bowedgallantly to her lithe back, and blew a kiss from his thickfingertips, in mocking reverence for her as an artist in her way.

　　Then, he seated himself, pressed the desk call-button, and, whenhe had learned that Edward Gilder was arrived, ordered that themagnate and the District Attorney be admitted, and that the son,also, be sent up from his cell.

　　"It's a bad business, sir," Burke said, with hearty sympathy, tothe shaken father, after the formal greetings that followed theentrance of the two men. "It's a very bad business.""What does he say?" Gilder questioned. There was somethingpitiful in the distress of this man, usually so strong and socertain of his course. Now, he was hesitant in his movements,and his mellow voice came more weakly than its wont. There was apathetic pleading in the dulled eyes with which he regarded theInspector.

　　"Nothing!" Burke answered. "That's why I sent for you. Isuppose 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's a terrible position for my boy. But you'll release him atonce, won't you?" Though he strove to put confidence into hiswords, his painful doubt was manifest.

　　"I can't," Burke replied, reluctantly, but bluntly. "You oughtnot to expect it, Mr. Gilder.""But," came the protest, delivered with much more spirit, "youknow very well 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'swhat I want 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 intothe room. He was pale, a little disheveled from his hours in acell. He still wore his evening clothes of the night before.

　　His face showed clearly the deepened lines, graven by thesuffering to which he had been subjected, but there was noweakness in his expression. Instead, a new force that love andsorrow had brought out in his character was plainly visible. Thestrength 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 amighty grip.

　　"My boy!" he murmured, huskily. Then, he made a great effort,and controlled his emotion to some extent. "The Inspector tellsme," he went on, "that you've refused to talk--to answer hisquestions."Dick, too, winced under the pain of this meeting with his fatherin a situation so sinister. But he was, to some degree,apathetic from over-much misery. Now, in reply to his father'swords, he only nodded a quiet assent.

　　"That wasn't wise under the circumstances," the fatherremonstrated hurriedly. "However, now, Demarest and I are hereto protect your interests, so that you can talk freely." He wenton with a little catch of anxiety in his voice. "Now, Dick, tellus! Who killed that man? We must know. Tell me."Burke broke in impatiently, with his blustering fashion ofaddress.

　　"Where did you get----?"But Demarest raised a restraining hand.

　　"Wait, please!" he admonished the Inspector. "You wait a bit."He went a step toward the young man. "Give the boy a chance," hesaid, and his voice was very friendly as he went on speaking.

　　"Dick, I don't want to frighten you, but your position is reallya dangerous one. Your only chance is to speak with perfectfrankness. I pledge you my word, I'm telling the truth, Dick."There was profound concern in the lawyer's thin face, and hisvoice, trained to oratorical arts, was emotionally persuasive.

　　"Dick, my boy, I want you to forget that I'm the DistrictAttorney, and remember only that I'm an old friend of yours, andof your father'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,which was characteristic of him in his professional work. TheDistrict Attorney himself was less vitally eager, but hiscuriosity, as well as his wish to escape from an embarrassingsituation, showed openly on his alert countenance. The heavyfeatures of the father were twisting a little in nervous spasms,for to him this hour was all anguish, since his only son was insuch horrible plight. Dick alone seemed almost tranquil, thoughthe outward calm was belied by the flickering of his eyelids andthe 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 areffort to resist the impression, to take the admission at itsface 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 professionalpride aroused against this young man who so flagrantly repelledhis attempts to learn the truth concerning the crime that hadbeen committed. He resorted to familiar artifices for entanglingone questioned.

　　"Oh, I see!" he said, in a tone of conviction. "Now, let's goback a little. Burke says you told him last night that you hadpersuaded your wife to come over to the house, and join youthere. Is that right?""Yes." The monosyllable was uttered indifferently. "And,while the two of you were talking," Demarest continued in amatter-of-fact manner. He did not conclude the sentence, butasked instead: "Now, tell me, Dick, just what did happen, won'tyou?"There was no reply; and, after a little interval, the lawyerresumed his questioning.

　　"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 getthe revolver?"Dick started to answer without thought:

　　"Why, I grabbed it----" Then, the significance of this crashed onhis consciousness, and he checked the words trembling on hislips. His eyes, which had been downcast, lifted and glared onthe questioner. "So," he said with swift hostility in his voice,"so, you're trying to trap me, too!" He shrugged his shoulders ina 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 onlyreproach in his voice as he answered stoutly:

　　"I am your friend, Dick."But Burke would be no longer restrained. He had listened withincreasing impatience to the diplomatic efforts of the DistrictAttorney, which had ended in total rout. Now, he insisted onemploying his own more drastic, and, as he believed, moreefficacious, methods. He stood up, and spoke in his mostthreatening manner.

　　"You don't want to take us for fools, young man," he said, andhis big tones rumbled harshly through the room. "If you shotGriggs in mistake for a burglar, why did you try to hide thefact? Why did you pretend to me that you and your wife werealone in the room--when you had *THAT there with you, eh? Whydidn't you call for help? Why didn't you call for the police, asany honest man would naturally under such circumstances?"The arraignment was severely logical. Dick showed hisappreciation of the justice of it in the whitening of his face,nor did he try to answer the charges thus hurled at him.

　　The father, too, appreciated the gravity of the situation. Hisface was working, as if toward tears.

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

　　Burke persisted in his vehement system of attack. Now, he againbrought out 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 mywife first." His voice became more aggressive. "I want to knowwhat you've done 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. Heanswered very quietly, but with an air of finality.

　　"I won't say any more until I've talked with a lawyer whom I cantrust." 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 fatherinsisted, despairingly. "Think of me, Dick, my boy. If youwon't speak for your own sake, do it for mine."The face of the young man softened as he met his father'sbeseeching eyes.

　　"I'm sorry, Dad," he said, very gently. "But I--well, I can't!"Again, Burke interposed. His busy brain was working out a newscheme for solving 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 getto understand the importance of what we've been saying prettysoon." He scowled at Dick. "Now, young man," he went on briskly,"you want to do a lot of quick thinking, and a lot of honestthinking, and, when you're ready 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 notbeen uttered, and went on speaking to the doorman with asuggestion in his words that was effective.

　　"He's not to speak to any one, you understand." Then hecondescended to give his attention to the prisoner. "You'll knowall about your wife, young man, when you make up your mind totell me the truth."Dick gave no heed to the Inspector's statement. His eyes werefixed on his father, and there was a great tenderness in theirdepths. And he spoke very softly:

　　"Dad, I'm sorry!"The father's gaze met the son's, and the eyes of the two locked.

　　There was no other word spoken. Dick turned, and followed hiscustodian out of the office in silence. Even after the shuttingof the door behind the prisoner, the pause endured for somemoments.

　　Then, at last, Burke spoke to the magnate.

　　"You see, Mr. Gilder, what we're up against. I can't let himgo--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's trying to shield her.""He's a loyal kid, at that," Burke commented, with a grudgingadmiration. "I'll say that much for him." His expression grewmorose, as again he pressed the button on his desk. "And now,"he vouchsafed, "I'll show you the difference." Then, as thedoorman reappeared, he gave his order: "Dan, have the Turnerwoman brought up." He regarded the two men with his bristlingbrows pulled down in a scowl. "I'll have to try a different gamewith her," he said, thoughtfully. "She sure is one clever littledame. But, if she didn't do it herself, she knows who did, allright." Again, Burke's voice took on its savage note. "And someone's got to pay for killing Griggs. I don't have to explain whyto Mr. Demarest, but to you, Mr. Gilder. You see, it's this way:

　　The very foundations of the work done by this department rest onthe use of crooks, who are willing to betray their pals for coin.

　　I told you a bit about it last night. Now, you understand, ifGriggs's murder goes unpunished, it'll put the fear of God intothe heart of every stool-pigeon we employ. And then where'd webe? Tell me that!"The Inspector next called his stenographer, and gave explicitdirections. At the back of the room, behind the desk, were threelarge windows, which opened on a corridor, and across this was atier of cells. The stenographer was to take his seat in thiscorridor, just outside one of the windows. Over the windows, theshades were drawn, so that he would remain invisible to any onewithin the office, while yet easily able to overhear every wordspoken in the room.

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

　　"Now, this time," he said energetically, "I'll be the one to dothe talking. And get this: Whatever you hear me say, don't yoube surprised. Remember, we're dealing with crooks, and, whenyou're dealing with crooks, you have to use crooked ways."There was a brief period of silence. Then, the door opened, andMary Turner entered the office. She walked slowly forward,moving with the smooth strength and grace that were the proof ofperfect health and of perfect poise, the correlation of mind andbody in exactness. Her form, clearly revealed by the clingingevening dress, was a curving group of graces. The beauty of herface was enhanced, rather than lessened, by the pallor of it, forthe fading of the richer colors gave to the fine features anexpression more spiritual, made plainer the underlying qualitiesthat her accustomed brilliance might half-conceal. She paidabsolutely no attention to the other two in the room, but wentstraight to the desk, and there halted, gazing with her softlypenetrant eyes of deepest violet into the face of the Inspector.

　　Under that intent scrutiny, Burke felt a challenge, set himselfto match craft with craft. He was not likely to undervalue thewits of one who had so often flouted him, who, even now, hadplaced him in a preposterous predicament by this entanglementover the death of a spy. But he was resolved to use his bestskill to disarm her sophistication. His l............