“It has been done. It may be she was under great provocation.”
“But, hold on, Belknap,” Barry cried; “don’t go too fast. What have you by way of evidence? Only that Miss Lindsay was seen in a taxicab with some man. What does that prove?”
“That there are some questions for Miss Lindsay to answer. I am not accusing her unheard. I want to hear her, to see her, to question her. And she has run away—which is, to say the least, a strange thing for her to do.”
“Oh, she hasn’t run away. There are dozens of plausible reasons for her sudden departure. And see here, Belknap, don’t let your suspicions turn toward that girl. It’s too ridiculous.”
“It will bear investigation.”
“Not even that. Since you’ve taken this attitude, I’ve decided to come through myself. I killed Robert Gleason.”
Belknap looked at him. “Now, Mr Barry, that’s too transparent. You’re saying that to shield Miss Lindsay.”
“Seems to me you’d better not jump at conclusions too continuously. And are you logical? You suspect Miss Lindsay with no evidence—only because she chanced to go out when you wanted to see her. Yet when I come and give myself up, you refuse to believe my confession. Can you not say, at least, that it needs investigation? Isn’t it your habit to look into the matter of a serious confession?”
Belknap stared at him.
But Millicent Lindsay cried out: “Oh, Phil, I’m so sorry! Do you know, I felt it was you all along. And I like you so much! But when I learned about the letter you wrote to Robert—you did write it, didn’t you?”