“Because, madam, evidence of vital importance has been found,” responded Penfield sternly. “Inspector Mitchell has a most unpleasant duty to perform.”
Mitchell stepped forward with marked reluctance. His gaze rested on Anne’s white face, and as he noted her youth his heart smote him—his dealings with criminals had not made him callous to human suffering.
“Anne Meredith,” he began, without preface, “in the name of the law I arrest you for the murder of your uncle, John Meredith.”
Twice Anne essayed to speak, and twice her voice failed her. Mrs. Hull’s gasping sob came faintly to her; she was more conscious of her mother’s stony silence.
“What are your grounds for so preposterous a charge?” Anne asked, and her voice sounded oddly in her own ears.
“You will learn them in due time,” responded Mitchell, extending the police warrant with its imposing seal. “I warn you that anything you say may be used against you.”
“So?” Anne faced him proudly, her eyes flashing with indignation. “You decline to tell me on what you base your charge and in the next breath warn me that anything that I may say in my own defense will be used against me. Is it fair, is it honorable to handicap me at every turn?”
“It is neither fair nor required by the law,” broke in a stern voice back of her, and Anne turned with a low cry of relief as Curtis stepped forward and confronted Inspector Mitchell. Behind him appeared Sam Hollister, his hands gripping a telegram which, in his agitation, he had failed to read.
“Come, come, Mitchell, you must not heckle my client,” the lawyer announced. “Keep within the law.”
“I am strictly within my rights,” declared Mitchell, his anger rising. “I—”