on't you accuse her
of having killed Mr. Whitmore?"

"Perhaps I may," said Britz challengingly.

"It would be just like you blundering policemen," sneered the lawyer.
"Mrs. Collins, a lady of refinement, a gentlewoman in every sense of the
word--is she to be dragged to Police Headquarters like a common felon?
You have observed her conduct here to-day. You've seen her anxiety for
the depositors of this institution. Her only thought was to save them
from financial loss. Why, search her entire life and see whether you can
discover a single base act that she has committed."

"My interest is confined to the Whitmore case," said Britz.

All this while Mrs. Collins sat outwardly resigned but inwardly
rebellious against the injustice which was about to impose on her the
humiliation of imprisonment. Now she arose with a sudden accession of
new strength.

"Do you really believe me capable of committing murder?" she inquired
resentfully.

It was as if she had just awakened from a long torpor and had determined
to meet the danger which confronted her with all the weapons at her
command. This recovery was precisely what Britz had been waiting for. It
foreshadowed fight and the ensuing conflict promised certain revelations
which were necessary for a clearer understanding of the circumstances
surrounding Whitmore's death.

"Every human being, given sufficient cause, is capable of murder," the
detective baited her. "We are all potential murderers."

She recoiled as from a blow. The detective's words could be interpreted
only as an intimation of her guilt.

"I loved Mr. Whitmore," she said, deeply moved. "You don't understand."

"Then why don't you enlighten me?" he flashed.

She stood mute, her face drawn in an expression of pain.

"What enlightenment can I offer?" she asked weakly.

Britz's eyes narrowed on her, fixed themselves on her troubled
countenance in a cold, scrutinizing stare.

"Who killed Herbert Whitmore?" he shot at her.

The question had the effect of a pistol report. She trembled, her color
changed from pale to crimson, she pressed her hand to her heart as if to
moderate its pulsations. Before she recovered from the violence of the
emotions suddenly aroused in her, Luckstone had come to her assistance.

"Why do you ask that?" he demanded. "A moment ago you practically
accused this lady of murder. Are you seeking incriminating admissions?
Or are you simply on a fishing expedition?"

"I am trying to a