Into his voice came a tone of exultation indescribably
ghastly. It was born of the eternal egotism of the criminal,
fattening vanity in gloating over his ingenuity for evil.
Garson, despite his two great virtues, had the vices of his
class. Now, he stared at Burke with a quizzical grin crooking
his lips.
"Say," he exclaimed, "I'll bet it's the first time a guy was ever
croaked with one of them things! Ain't it?"
The Inspector nodded affirmation. There was sincere admiration
in his expression, for he was ready at all times to respect the
personal abilities of the criminals against whom he waged
relentless war.
"That's right, Joe!" he said, with perceptible enthusiasm.
"Some class to that, eh?" Garson demanded, still with that
gruesome air of boasting. "I got the gun, and the Maxim-silencer
thing, off a fence in Boston," he explained. "Say, that thing
cost me sixty dollars, and it's worth every cent of the money....
Why, they'll remember me as the first to spring one of them
things, won't they?"
"They sure will, Joe!" the Inspector conceded.
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