Finally he
spoke, in a cold, weary voice.
"I shot Griggs," he said.
Demarest realized subtly that his plea had failed, but he made ar
effort to resist the impression, to take the admission at its
face 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 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, Dick, just what did happen, won't
you?"
There was no reply; and, after a little interval, the lawyer
resumed his questioning.
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