Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Britz motioned the others not to leave their chairs, hoping that whoever was seeking admittance would conclude that the apartment was unoccupied and leave. But the banging continued until finally the detective was moved to open the door. A man burst into the room, brushing past Britz and precipitating his figure into the sitting room. "Luckstone!" exclaimed Collins, bounding out of his chair.
Wiping the moisture from the corners of her eyes, she accepted the chair which Greig offered, settling herself in it as if she had come for a long stay. There was an awkward pause, which was broken by Greig: "This lady, Miss Strong, has valuable information." She turned her moistened eyes on Britz, who, through half-closed lids, was endeavoring to appraise her.
But every word of what was said by anyone standing in the corridor, would come to Britz's ears through the grating. Half an hour after Britz was locked in the cell, an automobile drew up at the curb on the Center street side of the prison and a young woman alighted. Her slim figure was concealed beneath a long fur coat, her face shielded by a heavy automobile veil.
Hastings," he addressed the detective "if this man tries to elude you, arrest him and bring him to Headquarters." Britz left the apartment, an exultant gleam in his eye. The long interview with Collins, even the intervention of Luckstone, had brought him closer to the final unraveling of the absorbing mystery that had developed so many amazing complications.
"But but how do you figure it out?" asked Greig, more puzzled than ever. "I shall not reveal that at present," answered Britz. "It will help our investigation to permit the murderer to believe that we don't know how he got to Whitmore. From the statements we have obtained, it is evident that conflicting interests are involved in the crime.
Relieved of Beard's presence, the detective summoned the butler. "Who visited Mr. Whitmore on the night he disappeared?" Britz said sharply. "A lady," answered the butler. "Who was she?" "I don't know. I had never seen her before." "Did you see Mr. Whitmore after her departure?" "Yes, sir, in the library." "Did he say anything?" "He asked me about a letter I had mailed."
The coroner shot a searching glance at Britz. "If none of the suspects was at Whitmore's office, how could any of them have killed Whitmore?" "Mr. Whitmore was not killed in his office," said Britz firmly. "He was shot the night before." The words came like a stunning blow where a verbal counter-argument was expected.
Britz said mechanically. "More than confess," she answered. "You'll hear him gloat over the crime. He'll display his exultation before me, and I want you to be there to listen." "But why why are you betraying him?" faltered the detective. Her face clouded, while her lips parted slightly in an expression of intense hatred.
The creditors would never have begun expensive bankruptcy proceedings." "But if he didn't know of the inheritance, is it likely that his sister knew?" interjected the chief. "She didn't know," said Britz in positive tone. "However, we'll soon make sure whether she did or not. I shall call up the lawyer who drew the will."
"Here is one we haven't examined," said Manning, offering a long, white envelope to Britz. "I don't know whether we are justified in opening it." The back of the envelope had been sealed with wax in three places, and the seals were still undisturbed. Across the front of it was written, "Last will and testament of Herbert Whitmore." Britz regarded the envelope with covetous eyes.
Word Of The Day