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Updated: April 30, 2025
Everybody hastened to the level ground, and were soon seated and busy over the good things which Mrs. Garson had provided with her usual consideration of individual tastes and necessities. When the more serious part of the meal was concluded, and tea and fruit was circulating, there was a great cry for Garth's ballad of the Boden boy who long years before had come to a tragic end in Lunda.
Slowly, very hesitatingly, Garson went back to the chair, and sank down on it in a limp attitude of dejection wholly unlike his customary postures of strength. Again, his fear-fascinated eyes went to the row of cells that stood silently menacing on the other side of the corridor beyond the windows. His face was tinged with gray.
It was the best he could do, and it shamed him, for he knew its weakness. Again, wrath surged in him, and it surged high. He welcomed the advent of Cassidy, who came hurrying in with a grin of satisfaction on his stolid face. "Say, Chief," the detective said with animation, in response to Burke's glance of inquiry, "we've got Garson."
"Does Garson know we've arrested the Turner girl and young Gilder?" And, when he had been answered in the negative: "Or that we've got Chicago Red and Dacey here?" "No," Cassidy replied. "He hasn't been spoken to since we made the collar.... He seems worried," the detective volunteered. Burke's broad jowls shook from the force with which he snapped his jaws together.
"I'll bet there'll be a lot of stuff in the newspapers about this, and my picture, too, in most of 'em! What?" The man's manner imposed on Burke, though Mary felt the torment that his vainglorying was meant to mask. "Say," Garson continued to the Inspector, "if the reporters want any pictures of me, could I have some new ones taken? The one you've got of me in the Gallery is over ten years old.
"Mary Turner, I want you for the murder of " Garson's rush halted the sentence. He had leaped forward. His face was rigid. He broke on the Inspector's words with a gesture of fury. His voice came in a hiss: "That's a damned lie!... I did it!" Joe Garson had shouted his confession without a second of reflection. But the result must have been the same had he taken years of thought.
His insistence on the point was of itself suspicious, but eagerness to protect her stultified his wits. Burke sat grim and silent, offering no comment on the lie. "Know anything about young Gilder?" he demanded. "Happen to know where he is now?" He arose and came around the desk, so that he stood close to Garson, at whom he glowered. "Not a thing!" was the earnest answer.
"Say, what am I arrested for?" he protested. "I ain't done anything." Even now, Burke did not look up, and his pen continued to hurry over the paper. "Who told you you were arrested?" he remarked, cheerfully, in his blandest voice. Garson uttered an ejaculation of disgust. "I don't have to be told," he retorted, huffily.
He hitched his chair a little closer to the desk, and leaned forward, lowering his voice almost to a whisper as he stated his plan. "Let's go after them. They were smuggled, mind you, and no matter what happens, he can't squeal. What do you say?" Garson shot a piercing glance at Mary. "It's up to her," he said. Griggs regarded Mary eagerly, as she sat with eyes downcast.
When, finally, he spoke, there was a certain quality in his voice that caused Aggie to regard him curiously. "Mary has been with him a good deal lately," he said, half questioningly. "That's what," was the curt agreement. Garson brought out his next query with the brutal bluntness of his kind; and yet there was a vague suggestion of tenderness in his tones under the vulgar words.
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