“I don't know whose it is,” Aggie replied, with an air of boredom well calculated to deceive. “I never laid eyes on it till now.”
The Inspector's tone abruptly took on a somber coloring, with an underlying menace.
“English Eddie was killed with this gun last night,” he said. “Now, who did it?” His broad face was sinister. “Come on, now! Who did it?”
Aggie became flippant, seemingly unimpressed by the Inspector's savageness.
“How should I know?” she drawled. “What do you think I am—a fortune-teller?”
“You'd better come through,” Burke reiterated. Then his manner changed to wheedling. “If you're the wise kid I think you are, you will.”
Aggie waxed very petulant over this insistence.
“I tell you, I don't know anything! Say, what are you trying to hand me, anyway?”
Burke scowled on the girl portentously, and shook his head.
“Now, it won't do, I tell you, Aggie Lynch. I'm wise. You listen to me.” Once more his manner turned to the cajoling. “You tell me what you know, and I'll see you make a clean get-away, and I'll slip you a nice little piece of money, too.”