"She says a curious thing, Mr. Bristow. She declares that, if Morley isn't guilty, George Withers is."
"And you?"
"Oh, the talk about George is absurd."
"But," urged Bristow, his smile persuasive, "for the sake of argument, if circumstances pointed to him as——"
"I'd spend every dollar I have, use the last atom of my strength, to send him to the chair! No suffering, no torture, would be too much for him—if that's what you mean to ask me. If I even suspected him, I'd subject him to an inquiry more relentless, more searching, more merciless than I'd use with anybody else!"
His nostrils expanded curiously. His eyes flamed.
"Mr. Bristow," he continued, menace in his low tone, "no punishment ever devised by man could be sufficient to pay for, to atone for, the horror, the enormity, of the destruction of such a woman as my daughter was. Mercy? I'd show him no mercy if he lived a thousand years!"
"I understand your feeling," Bristow said. "You're perfectly right, of course. And what I was leading up to is this: although we know that the idea of Withers' guilt is absurd, he's being made to suffer. You've seen intimations, almost direct statements, in the newspapers. People are talking disagreeably.
"They're saying that Braceway, employed by you and Withers, is persecuting this bank thief in the hope of building up the murder charge, so that, if the case against Carpenter falls down, Morley will be the logical man to be put on trial. You see?"
"No," Fulton said; "I don't. What do you mean?"