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Updated: August 7, 2024
Britz's gaze narrowed on her as if questioning her statement. But the very haggardness of her features accentuated her incapacity for deceit. Gradually the detective's eyes cleared with belief and his calloused nature yielded to an impulse of pity. "I did not expect to find you here, Mrs. Collins," he said more gently. "I can understand your suffering I do not wish to add a hair's weight to it.
The first thing Britz did the following morning was to call the Chief of Police of Atlanta on the telephone. "Yes, I've arranged for the writ of habeas corpus," said the Atlanta chief in response to Britz's questions. "I've also induced the Federal district-attorney not to oppose the man's discharge. Yes, I also saw the prisoner last night at the jail.
But his subsequent conduct had given his words the aspect of shrewd premeditation. Now she appeared intent on fastening guilt on Collins. Her very anxiety to do so implied a hidden motive. It was necessary to be on guard against trickery. Evidently she sensed Britz's lack of confidence, for she hastened to say: "I know why he wanted to kill Mr. Whitmore. It was because Mrs.
"Is Mrs. Collins at home?" asked Britz. "Who wishes to speak with her?" "This is Mr. Luckstone's office," said the detective. "Mr. Luckstone the attorney for Mr. Whitmore." Evidently a maid had answered the call, for a long silence ensued while the servant carried Britz's message to her mistress. Finally a voice at the other end of the wire said: "This is Mrs. Collins!"
"Where's Mr. Ward?" demanded the visitor. "Has he " The man paused as, for the first time, he recognized Britz. "Why, lieutenant, I didn't expect to find you here," he said. "Peck!" exclaimed Britz. "What brought you here?" "The chief sent me. He just got word from Delmore Park that Ward has skipped." "What!" An angry frown overspread Britz's features.
"Where'd you get them?" he asked helplessly. "In your house," answered the detective. "I searched the premises this afternoon." Collins looked appealingly from the detective to his friends. They had listened to Britz's recital with impassive countenances, and their expressions did not change as they met Collins's gaze. "What right had you to search my house?" demanded Collins.
The chief shook his head dubiously. "It looks to me now as if you're all in a muddle. You've got two of them under arrest why don't you lock up Ward and Collins and have them all in jail? Then you'd be sure to have the guilty party." "I shall see to it that Beard obtains his liberty to-morrow," was Britz's reply. "And then what?" "Then for the grand climax," said Britz.
"Would you prefer being questioned at Police Headquarters?" he inquired. The implied threat had an immediate effect on her. She recoiled as from a blow and moved slowly into the sitting-room. The detective followed her, after directing the servant not to leave the house. "Madam, what is your name?" he demanded brusquely. It was not Britz's habit to be gruff with women.
His strength was continually replenished through reliance on someone in whose judgment he had an abiding faith; a faith that even Britz's convincing recital of condemning circumstances was unable to shake.
Britz's eyes narrowed on her, fixed themselves on her troubled countenance in a cold, scrutinizing stare. "Who killed Herbert Whitmore?" he shot at her. The question had the effect of a pistol report. She trembled, her color changed from pale to crimson, she pressed her hand to her heart as if to moderate its pulsations.
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