“One of you killed Griggs. Which one of you did it?” He scowled at Dick. “Did she kill him?”
Again, the husband's cry came with the fierceness of despair over the fate of the woman.
“I told you, no!”
The Inspector, always savagely impressive now in voice and look and gesture, faced the girl with saturnine persistence.
“Well, then,” he blustered, “did he kill him?”
The nod of his head was toward Dick. Then, as she remained silent: “I'm talking to you!” he snapped. “Did he kill him?”
The reply came with a soft distinctness that was like a crash of destiny.
“Yes.”
Dick turned to his wife in reproachful amazement.
“Mary!” he cried, incredulously. This betrayal was something inconceivable from her, since he believed that now at last he knew her heart.