Had Beard been an experienced criminal, he would have known that no walls have more ears, nor more delicately attuned ears, than prison walls. And that knowledge would have inspired a suspicion of the very bars against which he pressed his fevered face. But being without previous jail experience, he said in a voice as distinctly audible to Britz as if he had been talking directly to the detective,—
"Then you don't believe for a single instant the terrible accusation they have lodged against me?"
"No one who knows you can possibly believe it," she answered in a tone of conviction.
"Dearest," he said, adopting a confidential air, "I could leave this prison to-morrow were I so inclined. They haven't the least particle of evidence against me—they cannot have. Were I to force the issue they could not make out a case sufficient to justify my being held for the grand jury. I am staying here because I want to, because it is best that they should direct their efforts toward trying to prove me the murderer."
Britz, in the darkness of his cell, indulged in an amused smile. So this man was endeavoring to draw the fire of the police in order to save the guilty person! Here was a pretty drama of cross-purposes. Had Beard been sufficiently shrewd to see through the purpose of his detention, he would have submitted to his imprisonment with less complacency.
"You mean that you are offering yourself as a target in order to shield the guilty person?" she inquired incredulously.
"Precisely."
"But why?" she demanded.
"Because I conceive it to be Mr. Whitmore's wish."
"Mr. Whitmore!" exclaimed she, obviously puzzled. "You mean he asked you to?"