“That it, Phil?” and Manning Pollard looked Barry squarely in the eyes.
“Take it any way you like, Pol,” Barry said. “I make my confession, I give myself up—now let the law—if such a thing exists—take its course. And there’s that letter. You know I wrote it, Pollard. You know I must have written it. There’s no other possible theory. You know I left you about six—or a little before. You know I’ve no alibi—and there was time enough for me to go down to the Gleason place and get back for the dinner party.”
“You rattle it off like a lesson, Phil. How did you go down there?”
Barry stared, but quickly said, “Taxi.”
“Did no one see you go in?”
“Not that I know of. Shut up, Pollard.”
Pollard shut up, and Belknap asked a long string of questions. These Barry answered, but even then, Belknap did not arrest him. The attorney went away, leaving the matter in abeyance, for, as a matter of fact, he had no idea Barry was telling the truth.
“Shielding somebody?” Pollard asked as soon as Belknap had gone.
Barry look at him. “I confessed,” he said.
“Yes; I know. To shield Phyllis—or Louis?”