"I tell you, I didn't kill
him!" he repeated at last, with more force.
Burke sneered his disbelief.
"You killed him last night--with this!" he cried, viciously. On
the instant, the pistol leaped into view, pointed straight at
Garson. "Why?" the Inspector shouted. "Come on, now! Why?"
"I didn't, I tell you!" Garson was growing stronger, since at
last the crisis was upon him. He got to his feet with lithe
swiftness of movement, and sprang close to the desk. He bent his
head forward challengingly, to meet the glare of his accuser's
eyes. There was no flinching in his own steely stare. His
nerves had ceased their jangling under the tautening of
necessity.
"You did!" Burke vociferated. He put his whole will into the
assertion of guilt, to batter down the man's resistance. "You
did, I tell you! You did!"
Garson leaned still further forward, until his face was almost
level with the Inspector's. His eyes were unclouded now, were
blazing. His voice came resonant in its denial. The entire pose
of him was intrepid, dauntless.
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