LITMIR.BIZ

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to-night."

      "Then you know about Mrs. Hanson?" she asked.

      He nodded sagely.

      "I know a lot."

      "You can't stay here," she said. "Go."

      He stretched out his hands.

      "Then you shall come with me. That's the scheme. Been in the back of my head all along. We'll show a clean pair of heels. Time something definite happened. Bella! – you know – how I love you."

      A slight impediment, unfamiliar to the startled woman, made itself noticeable in his voice. His control was limited. Already his true condition disclosed itself. Fear as powerful as that which had greeted his stealthy approach returned to her eyes.

      "You know I won't come with you, Freddy. Perhaps later things will be arranged. John and I had a talk to-night."

      His face worked evilly.

      "He had a talk with me, too," he said. "It's come to a showdown. No use talking about waiting, Bella. It's now or never. You've held me off too long. Got to choose. We love each other."

      He advanced. She stepped behind the table.

      "Don't come any nearer, Freddy. What's the matter with you?"

      He laughed.

      "Just you."

      He tapped the side pocket of his coat.

      "By gad! I'd have killed him to-night to get to you if it had been necessary. That's what you've done to me, Bella."

      He reached across and grasped her arm. He held her tight while he glided around the table. A book fell to the floor, and another. A vase of roses toppled over and shattered musically. The flowers made brilliant patches on the dull carpet.

      "Let me go. Listen, Freddy! We'll talk it over to-morrow – all three. I promised John I wouldn't see you to-night."

      "Tomorrow!" he laughed. "Too late. You don't know all I've done for this – a real sportin' proposition. I tell you it's now or never, and I'm mad about you."

      He got his arm around her.

      "You've got to let me keep my promise."

      Still laughing, he drew her closer. His flaming eyes were near. His breath was revolting on her cheeks.

      She struggled, gasping for words.

      "Let me go. You've been drinking. He said – "

      "He said!" he cried furiously.

      "What are you going to do?" she begged.

      As he flung her back against the table the side pocket of his unbuttoned coat flapped against her hand.

      "I'm not going to let you slip now, Bella."

      "Freddy! You're killing me!"

      She put her hand in his pocket and snatched out an unpolished, stubby, evil cylinder with a square grip which perfectly fitted her hand.

      "Look out, Freddy! You hurt!"

      He laughed again. His lips, repulsive and cruel, crushed hers. Her smothered crying was bitter.

      An explosion, slightly muffled, crowded the room with sound. Another followed.

      His lips, a moment ago masterful with unreasoning vitality, no longer troubled her.

      "Freddy!" she sobbed. "I'm sorry – "

      He crumpled at her feet.

      Near the water, spilled from the vase of roses, a darker stain spread.

      She screamed.

      "What's the matter? Freddy! I'm sorry – Say something – Pray!"

      She stumbled to her knees by the dead man. Her desolate cries fled ceaselessly through the open window.

      CHAPTER VI

      A CRYING THROUGH THE SILENCE

      Garth the next day did not repeat his floral indiscretion. One experience had convinced him that practice is necessary to the successful threading of such by-ways. His rose, in fact, had disclosed its limitations even before he had reached the inspector's flat. On his entrance it had not adorned his coat.

      He read the brief and scarcely illuminating account of the Elmford murder in the morning papers. Irritation at his own assignment – an unimportant case up-town – let it slip through his mind without arousing any exceptional interest.

      When he returned to the central office in the afternoon the doorman beckoned to him.

      "Inspector's been asking after you."

      Garth yawned.

      "All right. Tell him I'm here, Ed."

      After a moment the doorman called:

      "Inspector says, walk in."

      Garth went, and paused, ill-at-ease, just within the doorway.

      The huge man lolled in his chair. His quiet eyes fixed Garth genially. For once he failed to fidget with his desk paraphernalia. His rumbling voice was abnormally mild.

      Garth appreciated these portents. They connoted favoritism, but he traced that to the inspector's love for his daughter, because he was too modest to place in the scales his own conspicuous virtues.

      "Come over here and sit down, Garth."

      Garth obeyed.

      "Thanks, inspector."

      The inspector's eyes twinkled.

      "Boys tell me you're a little sore on the jobs you've had since you smashed Slim and George and their favourites."

      Garth grew red.

      "There are old women everywhere," he said. "Nothing to do but talk."

      The inspector guffawed.

      "Ain't it so?"

      "Incriminating question, chief."

      The other leaned forward.

      "I can't take chances with such a valuable man."

      He cleared his throat.

      "Were you thinking of paying your party call to-night? Because I've got to disappoint you. But I don't want to do that two ways. I can't see anything particularly dangerous about this job, but I'd like you to look it over this afternoon. It's the Elmford murder. Suppose you've read about it."

      "I glanced it over in the morning papers," Garth answered. "They were short on details."

      "There doesn't seem much to clear up," the inspector said, "except Dr. Randall's whereabouts. The men I sent out this morning haven't got a trace. Nothing's been heard from the ferries or the stations or out of town. Seems there ought to be some indication at the house for a sharp pair of eyes."

      "There's no doubt then," Garth asked, "that he killed Treving?"

      The inspector ran his hand through his hair.

      "Those must have been rotten papers you read," he answered. "Ask me if Cain killed Abel. Treving's goings-on with Randall's wife have been common gossip. The boys blushed about it in the clubs up town. Listen, Garth. I've found out things you won't get from any papers. Randall and Treving met at their club last night. Seems Randall had overheard some of this conversation. I've had a few of the high-hat crowd down here to-day, and one of the hall boys who heard what went on between Randall and Treving. Randall warned Treving away with threats. Treving lost his head and offered to bet he'd spend last evening with Mrs. Randall."

      "Good Lord!" Garth exclaimed. "Was he drunk?"

      "Can't tell," the inspector said. "The boy thought he had been drinking, but he didn't believe he was drunk. That don't mean much. Nothing like a college education to teach a man how to carry his liquor. Anyway, Randall came back with his own conviction. Swore he'd shoot Treving if such a thing came off. Well! Randall found Treving late last night in the lady's dressing-room."

      "Pretty bad," Garth agreed, "but I've never thought threats were very satisfactory evidence."

      "Plenty of other evidence," the inspector answered.

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