te of
determination.

"I want to know about my wife. Where is she?"

Burke disregarded the question as completely as if it had not been
uttered, and went on speaking to the doorman with a suggestion in his
words that was effective.

"He's not to speak to any one, you understand." Then he condescended to
give his attention to the prisoner. "You'll know all about your wife,
young man, when you make up your mind to tell me the truth."

Dick gave no heed to the Inspector's statement. His eyes were fixed on
his father, and there was a great tenderness in their depths. And he
spoke very softly:

"Dad, I'm sorry!"

The father's gaze met the son's, and the eyes of the two locked. There
was no other word spoken. Dick turned, and followed his custodian out
of the office in silence. Even after the shutting of the door behind the
prisoner, the pause endured for some moments.

Then, at last, Burke spoke to the magnate.

"You see, Mr. Gilder, what we're up against. I can't let him go--yet!"

The father strode across the room in a sudden access of rage.

"He's thinking of that woman," he cried out, in a loud voice. "He's
trying to shield her."

"He's a loyal kid, at that," Burke commented, with a grudging
admiration. "I'll say that much for him." His expression grew morose, as
again he pressed the button on his desk. "And now," he vouchsafed, "I'll
show you the difference." Then, as the doorman reappeared, he gave his
order: "Dan, have the Turner woman brought up." He regarded the two men
with his bristling brows pulled down in a scowl. "I'll have to try a
different game with her," he said, thoughtfully. "She sure is one clever
little dame. But, if she didn't do it herself, she knows who did, all
right." Again, Burke's voice took on its savage note. "And some one's
got to pay for killing Griggs. I don't have to explain why to Mr.
Demarest, but to you, Mr. Gilder. You see, it's this way: The very
foundations of the work done by this department rest on the use of
crooks, who are willing to betray their pals for coin. I told you a
bit about it last night. Now, you understand, if Griggs's murder
goes unpunished, it'll put the fear of God into the heart of every
stool-pigeon we employ. And then where'd we be? Tell me that!"

The Inspector next called his stenographer, and gave explicit
directions. At the back of the room, behind the desk, were three large
windows, which opened on a corridor, and across this was a tier of
ce