Nevertheless,
he pressed on his device valiantly.
"Now," he said, with a marked softening of manner, "I'm going to
be your friend."
"Are you?" Mary's tone was non-committal.
"Yes," Burke declared, heartily. "And I mean it! Give up the
truth about young Gilder. I know he shot Griggs, of course. But
I'm not taking any stock in that burglar story--not a little bit!
No court would, either. What was really back of the killing?"
Burke's eyes narrowed cunningly. "Was he jealous of Griggs?
Well, that's what he might do then. He's always been a worthless
young cub. A rotten deal like this would be about his gait, I
guess.... Tell me, now: Why did he shoot Eddie Griggs?"
There was coarseness a-plenty in the Inspector's pretense, but it
possessed a solitary fundamental virtue: it played on the heart
of the woman whom he questioned, aroused it to wrath in defense
of her mate. In a second, all poise fled from this girl whose
soul was blossoming in the blest realization that a man loved her
purely, unselfishly.
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