till, his pen hurried over the paper; and he did not trouble
to look up as he expostulated, half-banteringly.

"Now, now! What's the matter with you, Joe? I told you that I wanted to
ask you a few questions. That's all."

Garson leaped to his feet again resolutely, then faltered, and
ultimately fell back into the chair with a groan, as the Inspector went
on speaking.

"Now, Joe, sit down, and keep still, I tell you, and let me get through
with this job. It won't take me more than a minute more."

But, after a moment, Garson's emotion forced hint to another appeal.

"Say, Inspector----" he began.

Then, abruptly, he was silent, his mouth still open to utter the words
that were now held back by horror. Again, he saw the detective walking
forward, out there in the corridor. And with him, as before, was a
second figure, which advanced slinkingly. Garson leaned forward in his
chair, his head thrust out, watching in rigid suspense. Again, even
as before, the door swung wide, the prisoner slipped within, the door
clanged shut, the bolts clattered noisily into their sockets.

And, in the watcher, terror grew--for he had seen the face of Chicago
Red, another of his pals, another who had seen him kill Griggs. For a
time that seemed to him long ages of misery, Garson sat staring dazedly
at the closed doors of the tier of cells. The peril about him was
growing--growing, and it was a deadly peril! At last, he licked his dry
lips, and his voice broke in a throaty whisper.

"Say, Inspector, if you've got anything against me, why----"

"Who said there was anything against you, Joe?" Burke rejoined, in a
voice that was genially chiding. "What's the matter with you to-day,
Joe? You seem nervous." Still, the official kept on with his writing.

"No, I ain't nervous," Garson cried, with a feverish effort to appear
calm. "Why, what makes you think that? But this ain't exactly the place
you'd pick out as a pleasant one to spend the morning." He was silent
for a little, trying with all his strength to regain his self-control,
but with small success.

"Could I ask you a question?" he demanded finally, with more firmness in
his voice.

"What is it?" Burke said.

Garson cleared his throat with difficulty, and his voice was thick.

"I was just going to say--" he began. Then, he hesitated, and was
silent, at a loss.

"Well, what is it, Joe?" the Inspector prompted.

"I was going to say--that is--well, if it's anything about Mary