It was only by an effort that he shook off the vague feeling of
guilt.
"Nothing else to say?" he inquired.
Garson reflected for a few seconds, then made a gesture of
negation.
"Nothing else," he declared. "I croaked him, and I'm glad I done
it. He was a skunk. That's all, and it's enough. And it's all
true, so help me God!"
The Inspector nodded dismissal to the stenographer, with an air
of relief.
"That's all, Williams," he said, heavily. "He'll sign it as soon
as you've transcribed the notes."
Then, as the stenographer left the room, Burke turned his gaze on
the woman, who stood there in a posture of complete dejection,
her white, anguished face downcast. There was triumph in the
Inspector's voice as he addressed her, for his professional pride
was full-fed by this victory over his foes. But there was, too,
an undertone of a feeling softer than pride, more generous,
something akin to real commiseration for this unhappy girl who
drooped before him, suffering so poignantly in the knowledge of
the fate that awaited the man who had saved her, who had loved
her so unselfishly
"Young woman," Burke said briskly, "it's just like I told you.
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