“You can’t explain anything to me,” was the best he got from Captain Stone.
During this spirited dialogue the thief had gone to the side of Helen Burton, who had remained motionless where she had risen from her chair, playing the part of a helpless victim in the seemingly hopeless tangle.
“Now then, Helen,” he said to her in his old tone of endearment, “we can go. You see where this impostor stands.”
“With you––no!”
There was no mistaking the uncompromising emphasis of her denial.
Captain Stone set out to distribute his prisoners, motioning to one policeman to take care of Gladwin and to another to look after the Jap, who would be needed as a witness.
He came last to Helen just as she had repulsed the man she was to have eloped with that night. Captain Stone had had experience enough with women to be able to distinguish between types. He was on the point of ordering another of his men to take charge of Helen when he paused and studied her 242 more closely. His men were starting for the door with their prisoners when he signalled them to stop.
“Wait,” he said, “I wish to question this lady.”
He turned to Helen, when there came swiftly into the room Lieutenant Detective Kearney of the Central Office.
Kearney was every inch a Central Office man, and had been long enough at Headquarters to lose the heavy bovine set of the man who pounds the pavement. A strapping big fellow, with graying hair and a pair of round bullet eyes that searched you with needle points, his very appearance was sufficient corroboration of all the thrilling stories the newspapers printed of his skill and courage.