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Evidently the summons to appear at Police Headquarters had puzzled her, for she looked in a bewildered way from one to the other of the groups in the room. With a woman's sure instinct, however, she read that something was transpiring which threatened ill to the man who had won her affections, and she walked over to him with hand extended. "Here is a chair for you," said Britz, halting her.
"I am permitting you to go on your own recognizance," he said to the astonished prisoner, "but I shall expect you to hold yourself in readiness to appear here whenever you are wanted." "I shall be on hand," Beard promised. "Then you are at liberty to go," the coroner told him. If Britz expected to witness a hysterical scene between Beard and the girl, he was doomed to disappointment.
Three quarters of an hour later Britz was at his desk in Police Headquarters, studying the various ramifications of the case. Occasionally he scribbled a note and laid it aside for future reference. He was attacking the problem just as a business man might proceed with a commercial proposition viewing it from all angles and arranging a programme for his subordinates to follow.
Britz, recognizing instinctively the genuineness of the woman's love, passed over its ennobling aspect, to find therein a potent influence for the solution of the crime with which he was engaged. The girl had unconsciously revealed herself to him as a means to an end that end being the discovery and punishment of the murderer of Herbert Whitmore.
"She knows now that she has inherited Whitmore's fortune," said Britz with slow emphasis. "In view of what has happened to-day, there is but one obvious course for her to pursue. She may do it indirectly, through attorneys. She may elect to do it herself. We shall see." It was an unsatisfying explanation, revealing nothing of the detective's hidden purpose.
All the depositors will be paid. You are wealthy again far wealthier than ever before." Checking himself suddenly, the lawyer turned toward Britz. "I wonder who telephoned to Mrs. Collins?" he asked. "I took the liberty of using your name," said Britz. The lawyer tried to freeze him with a glance. "And who are you, sir?" he asked icily. "I am a detective attached to the Central Office."
"But the clothing his underwear would have shown where the blood had dried," the coroner declared. "Whitmore attended to that," replied Britz. "The moment he opened the wound he permitted the fresh blood to stain the underwear. You see, with the exception of his overcoat he wore the same clothing he had on when he was shot."
Britz consulted his watch. "I wonder whether I've miscalculated this time?" he remarked. Greig, having but a vague idea of Britz's plan, vouchsafed no reply. He remained close to the other's elbow. Another ten minutes passed and Britz began to look uneasily at the door. A shade of disappointment crossed his face, and did not go unobserved by his assistant. The crowd was growing unwieldy.
Collins made a bold pretense at ignorance. "This letter," Britz produced the note which Whitmore had sent to Mrs. Collins. On seeing the familiar handwriting Collins leaped out of his chair. "Where'd you get it?" he demanded. "Sit down!" commanded Britz. "I'll tell you when I get ready. You showed the letter to your wife and she decided to leave you. Then you started forth to kill Whitmore.
"Fanwell," said Britz to the man he assigned to "rope" Collins, "ingratiate yourself with him as quickly as possible. The subject is an easy mark for a convivial companion. You'll probably find him around the restaurants at night. Get an introduction and spend money freely. The gloom of tragedy doesn't cling long to a man like Collins, and even if it does, he'll try to dispel it with drink.
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