Within the Law: From the Play of Bayard Veiller

by Marvin Dana; Bayard Veiller

“Nothing else,” he declared. “I croaked him, and I'm glad I done it. He was a skunk. That's all, and it's enough. And it's all true, so help me God!”

The Inspector nodded dismissal to the stenographer, with an air of relief.

“That's all, Williams,” he said, heavily. “He'll sign it as soon as you've transcribed the notes.”

Then, as the stenographer left the room, Burke turned his gaze on the woman, who stood there in a posture of complete dejection, her white, anguished face downcast. There was triumph in the Inspector's voice as he addressed her, for his professional pride was full-fed by this victory over his foes. But there was, too, an undertone of a feeling softer than pride, more generous, something akin to real commiseration for this unhappy girl who drooped before him, suffering so poignantly in the knowledge of the fate that awaited the man who had saved her, who had loved her so unselfishly.

“Young woman,” Burke said briskly, “it's just like I told you. You can't beat the law. Garson thought he could—and now——!” He broke off, with a wave of his hand toward the man who had just sentenced himself to death in the electric-chair.

“That's right,” Garson agreed, with somber intensity. His eyes were grown clouded again now, and his voice dragged leaden. “That's right, Mary,” he repeated dully, after a little pause. “You can't beat the law!”

There followed a period of silence, in which great emotions were vibrant from heart to heart. Garson was thinking of Mary, and, with the thought, into his misery crept a little comfort. At least, she would go free. That had been in the bargain with Burke. And there was the boy, too. His eyes shot a single swift glance toward Dick Gilder, and his satisfaction increased as he noted the alert poise of the young man's body, the strained expression of the strong face, the gaze of absorbed yearning with which he regarded Mary. There could be no doubt concerning the depth of the lad's love for the girl. Moreover, there were manly qualities in him to work out all things needful for her protection through life. Already, he had proved his devotion, and that abundantly, his unswerving fidelity to her, and the force within him that made these worthy in some measure of her.

Garson felt no least pang of jealousy. Though he loved the woman with the single love of his life, he had never, somehow, hoped aught for himself. There was even something almost of the paternal in the purity of his love, as if, indeed, by the fact of restoring her to life he had taken on himself the responsibility of a parent. He knew that the boy worshiped her, would do his best for her, that this best would suffice for her happiness in time. Garson, with the instinct of love, guessed that Mary had in truth given her heart all unaware to the husband whom she had first lured only for the lust of revenge. Garson nodded his head in a melancholy satisfaction. His life was done: hers was just beginning, now.... But she would remember him—oh, yes, always! Mary was loyal.

The man checked the trend of his thoughts by a mighty effort of will. He must not grow maudlin here. He spoke again to Mary, with a certain dignity.

“No, you can't beat the law!” He hesitated a little, then went on, with a certain curious embarrassment. “And this same old law says a woman must stick to her man.”