Burke was frantic over being worsted thus. To gain a diversion,
he reverted to his familiar bullying tactics. His question burst
raspingly. It was a question that had come to be constant within
his brain during the last few hours, one that obsessed him, that
fretted him sorely, almost beyond endurance.
"Who shot Griggs?" he shouted.
Mary rested serene in the presence of this violence. Her answer
capped the climax of the officer's exasperation.
"My husband shot a burglar," she said, languidly. And then her
insolence reached its culmination in a query of her own: "Was his
name Griggs?" It was done with splendid art, with a splendid
mastery of her own emotions, for, even as she spoke the words,
she was remembering those shuddering seconds when she had stood,
only a few hours ago, gazing down at the inert bulk that had been
a man.
Burke betook himself to another form of attack.
"Oh, you know better than that," he declared, truculently. "You
see, we've traced the Maxim silencer. Garson himself bought it up
in Hartford.
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