Jack, steadying himself with hands on the table, was staring across at Mary. “’S tha’ so?” he demanded thickly.
“Part of it. But, Jack, listen—”
“I’ll not listen! Tha’s enough!” he burst out. He had irked at the restraints she had put upon him; and since for him she represented the routine life, he had unconsciously begun to weary of her. And all the while he had been sneakingly ashamed that he had accepted this supposed sacrifice from her. “I’ll not go home!” he shouted across at her. “Un’erstand? I’ll never go home! Un’erstand? I’m through with you! Un’erstand? You crook, you—you li’l’, dam’, sneakin’ crook!”
Mary stared at the inflamed, wine-flushed face thrust toward her. Then she drew a deep breath—a breath tense and quivering. Then a heavy voice sounded behind her.
“Guess you’ve got the right dope at last, Morton, on this Regan dame.”
As Mary turned quickly, Clifford’s eyes went to the other curtained doorway. Just inside it stood the broad, powerful figure of Bradley. So engrossed had Clifford been in the scene between Jack and Mary that he had not heard Bradley’s entrance—which had doubtless been effected by one of Le Bain’s many duplicate keys.
Clifford gasped within himself. The affair was even bigger than he had thought a few minutes gone. And in a flash he guessed the explanation of Bradley’s prompt appearance upon the scene: that while in the telephone closet Loveman had sent two messages—that after getting Mary’s promise to come, he had notified Bradley.
Mary looked back at Loveman, ignoring Jack. Clifford could see that her face was very pale; but she was straight and her gaze was unafraid.
“It’s no use trying to make Jack see the truth, Peter Loveman,” she said in a slow, determined voice. “There’s no denying that you’ve beaten me. You have removed all my motives for keeping silent about you. I know enough about you and can produce enough evidence to secure your conviction on half a dozen counts—and, believe me, Peter Loveman, I’m going to give all that evidence to Mr. Clifford.”
She turned to Bradley, and her steady voice went on. “You were a crook when you were in the Police Department—and you’ve been a crook, playing every sort of crooked, double-crossing game, since you became a private detective—and I have the evidence on you, too, that will send you away—and believe me, Mr. Bradley, I’m going to use it!”