The story she had just heard weighed upon her spirit and she shrank from thought of the man whose life hung on an unspoken word. Her own problem had faded into insignificance in the face of this potential tragedy and had she been personally involved in it, she could not have hoped more fervently for the prisoner's acquittal, even as she realized its futility. Would the mysterious young woman speak? Betty herself wondered.
CHAPTER XIV.
Naked Foils.
Detective Joseph P. McCormick was pacing his office like a caged bear, and his retinue of aides in the outer strongholds, recognizing the storm signals, went about their various tasks as expeditiously as they were able without venturing into his presence to discuss the details of the day's routine. Once his bell whirred viciously and to the scared office boy who reluctantly obeyed the summons the Chief turned a face like a thunder cloud.
"Ross shown up yet?" he barked.
"No, sir. He got your message when he 'phoned and he said he'd be here at once. There's hardly been time, sir—"
"When I want any observations from you I'll ask for them." The Chief brought his hand down smartly on the desk. "Bring Ross here the instant he arrives."
The door closed precipitately and the Chief resumed his restless tramp about the room, his heavy footsteps making the bronze electrolier on his desk vibrate until its dangling chains tinkled a protest. The clock ticked off five slow minutes, then ten, and the cigar butt between his strong white teeth was chewed to a pulp before the door opened quietly once more and Herbert Ross entered.
"You sent for me, sir?" His voice was gravely respectful, and his clear eyes were very sober, as he raised them steadily to meet those of his superior.
"Where the devil have you been?" McCormick's tone was ominously calm.