“Who does know?”
“No living person save myself and you gentlemen.”
“In that case, then, Mrs. Swanson,” said Lanagan simply, “your secret will die with us.”
She choked in attempting to speak, and, tears streaming from her eyes, bade us each adieu. For my part I confess I was blinking like a boy. The outer doors closed behind us. Then:
“Back to the room for you, chief,” snapped Lanagan laconically. “Throw Thorne in at 2:15. Charles Thorne, a former chauffeur, murdered Swanson after attempted blackmail failed. You stand, of course, chief?”
“Stand, Jack?” replied that sterling officer, “it’s in so deep it can only come out when the last drop leaves my veins.”
“I knew that,” said Lanagan. “Now, Norrie,” sharply, “get together! We have exactly fifty-five minutes to press time!”
IX
THE DOMINANT STRAIN