"He wouldn't care if you hadn't made some sort of a botch—"
"I? A botch? Say, don't you believe what he tells you, because it isn't true!"
"Well, he says—"
"I don't care what he says. I didn't do the job, and I am not going to let him shift the responsibility on my shoulders. He's a fool. Don't everybody think the girl is guilty, and if they clear her isn't there another string to the bow?"
"You mean Tom Ostrello?"
"That's it. So he told you about that, too," came from the secret service man bitterly. "Well, he isn't the man I thought he was. I suppose he has gone and blabbed right and left."
"Only to the band. We knew something was on the carpet and we cornered him and then he had to speak. Why, one of the New York detectives found our place under the old mill, and we had to do him, to keep the thing a secret."
"You got him out of the way?"
"Yes."
"Did Styles do that job?"