The District Attorney was beginning to feel his professional pride aroused against this young man who so flagrantly repelled his attempts to learn the truth concerning the crime that had been committed.He resorted to familiar artifices for entangling one questioned.
"Oh, I see!" he said, in a tone of conviction."Now, let's go back a little.Burke says you told him last night that you had persuaded your wife to come over to the house, and join you there.Is that right?""Yes." The monosyllable was uttered indifferently."And, while the two of you were talking," Demarest continued in a matter-of-fact manner.He did not conclude the sentence, but asked instead: "Now, tell me, ****, just what did happen, won't you?"There was no reply; and, after a little interval, the lawyer resumed his questioning.
"Did this burglar come into the room?"
**** nodded an assent.
"And he attacked you?"
There came another nod of affirmation.
"And there was a struggle?"
"Yes," **** 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 the revolver?"**** started to answer without thought:
"Why, I grabbed it----" Then, the significance of this crashed on his consciousness, and he checked the words trembling on his lips.His eyes, which had been downcast, lifted and glared on the questioner."So," he said 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, in dissembling, and he hid his chagrin perfectly.There was only reproach in his voice as he answered stoutly:
"I am your friend, ****."
But Burke would be no longer restrained.He had listened with increasing impatience to the diplomatic efforts of the District Attorney, which had ended in total rout.Now, he insisted on employing his own more drastic, and, as he believed, more efficacious, methods.He stood up, and spoke in his most threatening manner.
"You don't want to take us for fools, young man," he said, and his big tones rumbled harshly through the room."If you shot Griggs in mistake for a burglar, why did you try to hide the fact? Why did you pretend to 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 you call for the police, as any honest man would naturally under such circumstances?"The arraignment was severely logical.**** showed his appreciation 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.His face 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 again brought out the weapon that had done Eddie Griggs to death.
"Where'd you get this gun?" he shouted.
**** held his tranquil pose.
"I won't talk any more," he answered, simply."I must see my wife first." His voice became more aggressive."I want to know what you've done to her."Burke seized on this opening.
"Did she kill Griggs?" he questioned, roughly.
For once, **** 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 answered very 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.
"****, if you know who killed this man, you must speak to protect yourself."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, ****, my boy.If you won't speak for your own sake, do it for mine."The face of the young man softened as he met his father's beseeching 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 new scheme 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 get to understand the importance of what we've been saying pretty soon." He scowled at ****."Now, young man," he went on briskly, "you want to do a lot of quick thinking, and a lot of honest thinking, 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."****, however, did not move.His voice came with a note of determination.
"I want to know about my wife.Where is she?"Burke disregarded the question as completely as if it had not been uttered, and went on speaking to the doorman with a suggestion in his words that was effective.
"He's not to speak to any one, you understand." Then he condescended to give 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."**** gave no heed to the Inspector's statement.His eyes were fixed on his father, and there was a great tenderness in their depths.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.**** turned, and followed his custodian out of the office in silence.Even after the shutting of the door behind the prisoner, 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.
