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Updated: May 8, 2025
He decided to put it through. "I got it from a box, at the coroner's office," he admitted. "Mr. Garrison, what do you mean by withholding all these facts?" demanded Wicks sharply. "Where did Hardy get the box of cigars?" Garrison would gladly have evaded this question, but he was helpless. "They were a birthday present from his niece." "This Miss Booth-Fairfax?" "Yes."
It seemed to Garrison he was fighting in the toils of some astounding maze, where sickening mists arose to clog his brain. He could scarcely believe his senses. A tidal wave of facts and deductions, centering about the personality of Dorothy Booth-Fairfax, surged upon him relentlessly, bearing down and engulfing the faith which he strove to maintain in her honesty.
"Then why the devil don't you report to that effect?" snapped Wicks. "Are you trying to shield that young woman?" Garrison knew whom he meant, but he asked: "What young woman?" "Dorothy Booth-Fairfax! You know who I mean!" "What has she to do with it?" Garrison inquired in apparent innocence. "Why should you think I'm shielding her?"
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