The detective knew now that he was dealing with a murderer. He wanted to ask questions at once; to confound Biscayne before he joined his confederate, Fredericks, in the other room.
“What is the matter?” questioned Biscayne, in a surprised tone.
“There are some things I want to know,” asserted Cardona with strange, slow emphasis. “Just how well did you know Silas Harshaw?”
“Only as an acquaintance—”
“Stop the bluff! I’ve got you, Biscayne. Got you with the goods!
“You were in back of this. All of it. I’m going to make you squeal, you rat! You killed Harshaw. You killed Glenn. You—”
Still holding the little bomb, Biscayne smiled and shrugged his shoulders. His eyes shone harmlessly.
Cardona paused, sensing that the man was about to speak.
“I guess you have trapped me, Cardona,” he said. “But why talk about it. There is enough for you in this.
“It is large game, Cardona — and it is finished now.”