“Good-night!” quoth Cassidy, turning at the door, in admission of his discomfiture over the thrust, while Burke himself grinned wryly in appreciation of the gibe.
Demarest grew grave again, as he put the question that was troubling him most.
“Is there any chance that young Gilder did shoot Griggs?”
“You can search me!” the Inspector answered, disconsolately. “My men were just outside the door of the room where Eddie Griggs was shot to death, and none of 'em heard a sound. It's that infernal silencer thing. Of course, I know that all the gang was in the house.”
“But tell me just how you know that fact,” Demarest objected very crisply. “Did you see them go in?”
“No, I didn't,” the Inspector admitted, tartly. “But Griggs——”
Demarest permitted himself a sneer born of legal knowledge.
“Griggs is dead, Burke. You're up against it. You can't prove that Garson, or Chicago Red, or Dacey, ever entered that house.”
The Inspector scowled over this positive statement.
“But Griggs said they were going to,” he argued.