Part 50 (1/2)

Of a sudden, an inspiration came to him, a means to snap the tension, to create a diversion wholly efficacious. He would turn to his boasting again, would call upon his vanity, which he knew well as his chief foible, and make it serve as the foil against his love. He strove manfully to throw off the softer mood. In a measure, at least, he won the fight--though always, under the rush of this vaunting, there throbbed the anguish of his heart.

”You want to cut out worrying about me,” he counseled, bravely. ”Why, I ain't worrying any, myself--not a little bit! You see, it's something new I've pulled off. n.o.body ever put over anything like it before.”

He faced Burke with a grin of gloating again.

”I'll bet there'll be a lot of stuff in the newspapers about this, and my picture, too, in most of 'em! What?”

The man's manner imposed on Burke, though Mary felt the torment that his vainglorying was meant to mask.

”Say,” Garson continued to the Inspector, ”if the reporters want any pictures of me, could I have some new ones taken? The one you've got of me in the Gallery is over ten years old. I've taken off my beard since then. Can I have a new one?” He put the question with an eagerness that seemed all sincere.

Burke answered with a fine feeling of generosity.

”Sure, you can, Joe! I'll send you up to the Gallery right now.”

”Immense!” Garson cried, boisterously. He moved toward d.i.c.k Gilder, walking with a faint suggestion of swagger to cover the nervous tremor that had seized him.

”So long, young fellow!” he exclaimed, and held out his hand. ”You've been on the square, and I guess you always will be.”

d.i.c.k had no scruple in clasping that extended hand very warmly in his own. He had no feeling of repulsion against this man who had committed a murder in his presence. Though he did not quite understand the other's heart, his instinct as a lover taught him much, so that he pitied profoundly--and respected, too.

”We'll do what we can for you,” he said, simply.

”That's all right,” Garson replied, with such carelessness of manner as he could contrive. Then, at last, he turned to Mary. This parting must be bitter, and he braced himself with all the vigors of his will to combat the weakness that leaped from his soul.

As he came near, the girl could hold herself in leash no longer. She threw herself on his breast. Her arms wreathed about his neck. Great sobs racked her.

”Oh, Joe, Joe!” The gasping cry was of utter despair.

Garson's trembling hand patted the girl's shoulder very softly, a caress of infinite tenderness.

”That's all right!” he murmured, huskily. ”That's all right, Mary!”

There was a short silence; and then he went on speaking, more firmly.

”You know, he'll look after you.”