Garson, intent on her always, though he seemed to look only at Burke, observed the effect on her, and repeated his words swiftly, with a warning emphasis that gave the girl pause.
“Nobody knew I had it—nobody in the world!” he declared. “And nobody had anything to do with the killing but me.”
Burke put a question that was troubling him much, concerning the motive that lay behind the shooting of Griggs.
“Was there any bad feeling between you and Eddie Griggs?”
Garson's reply was explicit.
“Never till that very minute. Then, I learned the truth about what he'd framed up with you.” The speaker's voice reverted to its former fierceness in recollection of the treachery of one whom he had trusted.
“He was a stool-pigeon, and I hated his guts! That's all,” he concluded, with brutal candor.
The Inspector moved restlessly in his chair. He had only detestation for the slain man, yet there was something morbidly distasteful in the thought that he himself had contrived the situation which had resulted in the murder of his confederate. It was only by an effort that he shook off the vague feeling of guilt.
“Nothing else to say?” he inquired.
Garson reflected for a few seconds, then made a gesture of negation.