“Sure, I understand,” Garson replied, with an amiability equal to the Inspector's own.
Burke's manner continued very amicable as he went on speaking.
“You see, Joe, anyhow, we've got the right party safe enough. You can bet on that!”
Garson resisted the lure.
“If you don't want me——” he began suggestively; and he turned toward the door to the outer hall. “Why, if you don't want me, I'll—get along.”
“Oh, what's the hurry, Joe?” Burke retorted, with the effect of stopping the other short. He pressed the buzzer as the agreed signal to Cassidy. “Where did you say Mary Turner was last night?”
At the question, all Garson's fears for the woman rushed back on him with appalling force. Of what avail his safety, if she were still in peril?
“I don't know where she was,” he exclaimed, doubtfully. He realized his blunder even as the words left his lips, and sought to correct it as best he might. “Why, yes, I do, too,” he went on, as if assailed by sudden memory. “I dropped into her place kind of late, and they said she'd gone to bed—headache, I guess.... Yes, she was home, of course. She didn't go out of the house, all night.” His insistence on the point was of itself suspicious, but eagerness to protect her stultified his wits.
Burke sat grim and silent, offering no comment on the lie.
“Know anything about young Gilder?” he demanded. “Happen to know where he is now?” He arose and came around the desk, so that he stood close to Garson, at whom he glowered.