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 certain dignity.
"No, you can't beat the law!" He hesitated a little, then went on, with a certain curious embarrassment."And this same old law says a woman must stick to her man."The girl's eyes met his with passionate sorrow in their misty deeps.Garson gave a significant glance toward **** Gilder, then his gaze returned to her.There was a smoldering despair in that look.There were, as well, an entreaty and a command.
"So," he went on, "you must go along with him, Mary....
Won't you? It's the 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 as he was to scenes of dramatic violence, now experienced an altogether unfamiliar thrill.As for Garson, once again the surge of feeling threatened to overwhelm his self-control.He must not break down! For Mary's sake, he must show himself stoical, quite undisturbed in this supreme 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 boasting again, would call upon his vanity, which he knew well as his chief foible, and make it serve as the foil against his love.He strove manfully to throw off the softer mood.In a measure, at least, he won the fight--though always, under the rush of this vaunting, there throbbed 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 something new 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, and my picture, too, in most of 'em! What?"The man's manner imposed on Burke, though Mary felt the torment that his vainglorying was meant to mask.
"Say," Garson continued to the Inspector, "if the reporters want any pictures of me, could I have some new ones taken? The one you've got of me in the Gallery is over ten years old.I've taken off my beard since then.Can I have a new one?" He put the question with an eagerness that seemed 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 **** Gilder, walking with a faint suggestion of swagger to cover the nervous tremor that had seized him.
"So long, young fellow!" he exclaimed, and held out his hand.
"You've been on the square, and I guess you always will be."**** had no scruple in clasping that extended hand very warmly in his own.He had no feeling of repulsion against this man who had committed a murder in his presence.Though he did not quite understand the other's heart, his instinct as a lover taught him much, so that he pitied profoundly--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 as he could contrive.Then, at last, he turned to Mary.
This parting must be bitter, and he braced himself with all the vigors of his will to combat the weakness that leaped from his soul.
As he came near, the girl could hold herself in leash no longer.
She threw herself on his breast.Her arms wreathed about his neck.Great sobs racked her.
"Oh, Joe, Joe!" The gasping cry was of utter despair.
Garson's trembling hand patted the girl's shoulder very softly, a caress of infinite tenderness.
