Burke believed that his opportunity was come.
"What made you think I wanted to know anything about her?" he
questioned.
"Oh, I can't exactly say," Garson replied carelessly, in an
attempt to dissimulate his agitation. "You were up to the house,
you know. Don't you see?"
"I did want to see her, that's a fact," Burke admitted. He kept
on with his writing, his head bent low. "But she wasn't at her
flat. I guess she must have taken my advice, and skipped out.
Clever girl, that!"
Garson contrived to present an aspect of comparative
indifference.
"Yes," he agreed. "I was thinking of going West, myself," he
ventured.
"Oh, were you?" Burke exclaimed; and, now, there was a new note
in his voice. His hand slipped into the pocket where was the
pistol, and clutched it. He stared at Garson fiercely, and spoke
with a rush of the words:
"Why did you kill Eddie Griggs?"
"I didn't kill him!" The reply was quick enough, but it came
weakly. Again, Garson was forced to wet his lips with a dry
tongue, and to swallow painfully.
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