“You might as well smoke now—as later!” and there was a wealth of innuendo in the emphasis. “Is that all you are going to do, to square your accounts?”
“By no means! As my trump card, I have implicated Miss Helene Marigold in the various exploits which have been so successful now. She is unknown in New York—I investigated that matter. She will have a fine task in proving an alibi, after the careful preparation I have made. In fact, I accuse her of being the mistress of my dead con'federate—”
Shirley sprang to his feet, and the rage which was shown in his strong features brought a leer to the face of the other.
“Strike me,” continued the tormentor. “All I have to do is to call the guard. I have been busy thinking since they locked me up here. There is nothing more to do to me than the electric chair—but, I am not finished yet.”
The criminologist controlled himself with difficulty. He realized that an altercation with the prisoner would shatter his whole case, like a house of cards blown down by a vagrant breeze. He sat down again, the mask of calm indifference playing over his features.
“And what then?”
“Is not that sufficient to interest you? It will be another month before my trial, and my literary work has just begun. The newspapers are filled with war news, which have ceased to be a nine days' wonder. I shall provide them with material which will be the story of the age! Another month, and then?”
The prisoner lit the cigarette which he had accepted, and stretched back in the plain wooden chair to enjoy the misery of his victim.
“But, a month—let me see? That would enable me to do some corresponding myself, wouldn't it?” and Shirley took out a memorandum book. “You have degraded a splendid intellect, a gallant spirit and brought disgrace upon yourself, for this miserable ending. You have ruthlessly murdered others, caring naught for the misery and wretchedness of those left behind. Has it been worth it all, Warren?”
The other's eyes twinkled, as he nodded.