Part 28 (1/2)
”That old man pockets his fee when he throws Gene Russell into jail.
Why, then, isn't it his game to convince you of Gene's guilt? Why isn't it his game to persuade you of my secret knowledge of Gene's guilt?
Why----”
”So, that's----”
”Let me say what I started,” she in turn interrupted him. ”As one of the reporters pointed out, why isn't it his game to try to make a fool of you?”
The smile with which she recommended that rumour to his attention incensed him further. It patronized him. It said, as openly as if she had spoken the words: ”I'm really very sorry for you.”
He dropped his hands to his widespread knees, slid forward to the edge of his chair, thrust his face closer to hers, peered into her hard face for her meaning.
”Making a fool of me, is he?” he said in the brutal key of unrepressed rage.
A quick motion of her lifted brows, a curve of her lower lip--indubitably, a new significance of expression--stopped his outburst.
”By George!” he said, taken aback. ”By George!” he repeated, this time in a coa.r.s.e exultation. He thrust himself still closer to her, certain now of her meaning.
”What do you know?” He lowered his voice and asked again: ”Mrs. Brace, what do you know?”
She moved back, farther from him. She was not to be rushed into--anything. She made him appreciate the difficulty of ”getting next”
to her. He no longer felt fear of her imposing on him--she had just exposed, for his benefit, how Hastings had played on his credulity! He felt grateful to her for that. His only anxiety now was that she might change her mind, might refuse him the a.s.sistance which that new and subtle expression had promised a moment ago.
”If I thought you'd use----” she began, broke off, and looked past his shoulder at the opposite wall, the pupils of her eyes sharp points of light, lips drawn to a line almost invisible.
Her evident prudence fired his eagerness.
”If I'd do what?” he asked. ”If you thought I'd--what?”
”Let me think,” she requested.
He changed his posture, with a great show of watching the sunset sky, and stole little glances at her smooth, untroubled face. He believed now that she could put him on the trail of the murderer. He confessed to himself, unreservedly, that Hastings had tricked him, held him up to ridicule--to the ridicule of a nation, for this crime held the interest of the entire country. But here was his chance for revenge! With this ”smart” woman's help, he would outwit Hastings!
”If you'd use my ideas confidentially,” she said at last, eying him as if she speculated on his honesty; ”if I were sure that----”
”Why can't you be sure of it?” he broke in. ”My job is to catch the man who killed your daughter. I've got two jobs. The other is to show up old Hastings! Why wouldn't I do as you ask--exactly as you ask?”
She tantalized him.
”And remember that what I say is ideas only, not knowledge?”
”Sure! Certainly, Mrs. Brace.”
”And, even when you arrest the right man, say nothing of what you owe me for my suggestions? You're the kind of man to want to do that sort of thing--give me credit for helping you.”
Even that pleased him.
”If you specify silence, I give you my word on it,” he said, with a fragment of the pompous manner he had brought into the apartment more than an hour ago.
”You'll take my ideas, my theory, work on it and never bring me into it--in any way? If you make that promise, I'll tell you what I think, what I'm certain is the answer to this puzzle.”