"Because there seems to be something very especial on between her and
the man we thought was worth five hundred dollars to us."
"That young lady, Mr. Mullaney, is engaged to me," stated Dodd, acridly.
"You'd better drop the topic."
But he did not display either the joy or the pride of the accepted
suitor as he looked up at her.
"I'll simply say that you're a mighty lucky chap and I congratulate
you," returned Mr. Mullaney, hiding his confusion by getting very
busy with newspaper clippings and papers which he drew from his breast
pocket.
The detective was wholly unconscious of the irony of that remark. But it
brought a flush of shame to Dodd's cheek, for the sorrow and sting and
ignominy of that part which he had played had not departed from his soul
nor did even the fervor of his passion for her help him forgive himself;
he stared at her guiltily as the thief gloats over his loot and is
conscious of his degradation without feeling sufficient contrition to
give up the object he has stolen.
For he remembered with fresh and poignant recollection the circumstances
under which that girl had given her promise to him so recently: she had
stood over a mother who had abased herself before them, had cast herself
down and had writhed and screamed and implored her to consent; and the
mother was driven to do this by the lash of his threats. He had stood
there and demanded, and the woman on the floor had confessed her
frailty, owned to her misdeeds, acknowledged her debt, and had
frantically begged her daughter to sacrifice herself.
The girl had given her "Yes," paying the debt with herself; but her eyes
had been wide and dry and her face was white and set and she had looked
past the man to whom she promised herself when she had murmured that
promise.
Dodd swept cold sweat from his forehead as he remembered; he found
almost the same expression now on her face as she gazed down on Walker
Farr, who stared back at her anxiously, perceiving a grief that he could
not understand.
In that vast assemblage those three, thus wordlessly, no one marking
them, fought a tragic battle of hopeless love with their eyes.
Detective Mullaney pored over his papers. "By gad," he mused, "I haven't
kept my books all this time for nothing. I know my card. I've got him
right--it's dead open and shut. But I swear he doesn't look the part
he played, even if the description does fit him. Well, law is law! If
I can't sell him to Symonds Dod
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