Part 13 (1/2)

”I didn't do it. Really, I didn't.”

”Shut your mouth! You're lying, and you know you're lying. Wait till the coroner comes. We'll fix you.”

Again there was silence, and now began a long, tedious wait, both men retaining the same positions, the captain watching his prisoner as a cat watches a mouse.

Howard's mental anguish was almost unendurable. He thought of his poor wife who must be waiting up for him all this time, wondering what had become of him. She would imagine the worst, and there was no telling what she might do. If only he could get word to her. Perhaps she would be able to explain things. Then he thought of his father. They had quarreled, it was true, but after all it was his own flesh and blood. At such a critical situation as this, one forgets. His father could hardly refuse to come to his a.s.sistance. He must get a lawyer, too, to protect his interests. This police captain had no right to detain him like this. He must get word to Annie without delay. Summoning up all his courage, he said boldly:

”You are detaining me here without warrant in law. I know my rights. I am the son of one of the most influential men in the city.”

”What's your name?” growled the captain.

”Howard Jeffries.”

”Son of Howard Jeffries, the banker?”

Howard nodded.

”Yes.”

The captain turned to his sergeant.

”Maloney, this feller says he's the son of Howard Jeffries, the banker.”

Maloney leaned over and whispered something in the captain's ear. The captain smiled grimly.

”So, you're a bad character, eh? Father turned you out of doors, eh?

Where's that girl you ran away with?” Sharply he added: ”You see I know your record.”

”I've done nothing I'm ashamed of,” replied Howard calmly. ”I married the girl. She's waiting my return now. Won't you please let me send her a message?”

The captain eyed Howard suspiciously for a moment, then he turned to his sergeant:

”Maloney, telephone this man's wife. What's the number?”

”Eighty-six Morningside.”

Maloney again got busy with the telephone and the wearying wait began once more. The clock soon struck two. For a whole hour he had been subjected to this gruelling process, and still the lynx-eyed captain sat there watching his quarry.

If Captain Clinton had begun to have any doubts when Howard told him who his father was, Maloney's information immediately put him at his ease.

It was all clear to him now. The youth had never been any good. His own father had kicked him out. He was in desperate financial straits. He had come to this man's rooms to make a demand for money. Underwood had refused and there was a quarrel, and he shot him. There was probably a dispute over the woman. Ah, yes, he remembered now. This girl he married was formerly a sweetheart of Underwood's. Jealousy was behind it as well. Besides, wasn't he caught red-handed, with blood on his hands, trying to escape from the apartment? Oh, they had him dead to rights, all right. Any magistrate would hold him on such evidence.

”It's the Tombs for him, all right, all right,” muttered the captain to himself; ”and maybe promotion for me.”

Suddenly there was a commotion at the door. The coroner entered, followed by the undertaker. The two men advanced quickly into the room, and took a look at the body. After making a hasty examination, the coroner turned to Captain Clinton.

”Well, Captain, I guess he's dead, all right.”

”Yes, and we've got our man, too.”