ingle out the murderer. I have
found that way."

To the two listeners Britz's statement sounded almost like a confession
of failure. It was an indirect admission that he had not learned the
identity of the murderer--that he had nothing on which to base a direct
accusation.

"We've got to break their silence!" Britz exclaimed impressively. "As
long as they remain mute, they are safe. But I've found the way to make
them talk--I know where their interests conflict and to-morrow I shall
bring them in violent conflict with each other. The result is
inevitable."

It was plain from their expressions that Manning and Greig did not share
Britz's confidence. They could foresee only disaster. And in the state
of nervous depression in which they found themselves they were unable to
offer a word of encouragement to the detective. But Britz did not
require their encouragement, his own self-confidence being sufficient to
sustain him.

"Keep alert to every advantage to-morrow," he enjoined them. "You'll
catch what I'm doing and I want you to add emphasis to everything I do
and say."

As Manning and Greig were about to depart, Britz made a final effort to
dispel the gloomy forebodings that possessed them.

"Don't look so glum!" he said, laying a reassuring hand on their
shoulders. "We can't lose. Not only are there grave conflicting
interests among them, but I shall invoke against their silence an
all-conquering force--the most potent force in all human conduct."

"What is it?" asked Manning and Greig eagerly.

"Love."

CHAPTER XXI

Both Britz and Manning were skilled in the art of concealing their
emotions. Their brains might be working furiously, their hearts
throbbing with excitement, they might be laboring under the greatest
stress of mind, yet they were able to command a placid exterior,
unruffled as polished ivory.

Their conduct as they entered the Police Headquarters the following
morning gave no suggestion of the strain which they were undergoing.
Their faces reflected none of the anxious expectancy with which they
looked forward to the enactment of the great climax in the Whitmore
case.

But the trained newspaper man, as well as the skilled police officer, is
endowed with a peculiar instinct by which he seems to detect, without
apparent reason, the presence of impending excitement. He seems to smell
it in the air. So that even before Britz began issuing instructions to
his men and sending them scurryi