Dick's manner became that of the devoted husband offended by
impertinent obtrusion.
"You forget yourself, Inspector," he said, icily. "This is my
wife. She has the right to be with me--her husband!"
The Inspector grinned sceptically. He was moved no more
effectively by Mary's almost hysterical effort to respond to her
husband's leading.
"Why shouldn't I be here? Why? Why? I----"
Burke broke in on the girl's pitiful histrionics ruthlessly. He
was not in the least deceived. He was aware that something
untoward, as he deemed it, had occurred. It seemed to him, in
fact, that his finical mechanisms for the undoing of Mary Turner
were in a fair way to be thwarted. But he would not give up the
cause without a struggle. Again, he addressed himself to Dick,
disregarding completely the aloof manner of the young man.
"Where's your father?" he questioned roughly.
"In bed, naturally," was the answer. "I ask you again: What are
you doing here at this time of night?"
Burke shook his shoulders ponderously in a movement of impatience
over this prolonging of the farce.
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