"Are all these
questions necessary?" she queried sharply. "You can't for a
moment believe that Miss Ogden shot that man!" But by now, though
she did not show it, she too began to realize the strength of the
appalling net of circumstances that drew with each minute tighter
around the unhappy girl. Dale gratefully seized the momentary
respite and sank into a chair. The detective looked at her.
"I think she knows more than she's telling. She's concealing
something!" he said with deadly intentness. "The nephew of the
president of the Union Bank--shot in his own house the day the
bank has failed--that's queer enough--" Now he turned back to
Miss Cornelia. "But when the only person present at his murder
is the girl who's engaged to the guilty cashier," he continued,
watching Miss Cornelia's face as the full force of his words sank
into her mind, "I want to know more about it!"
He stopped. His right hand moved idly over the edge of the table
--halted beside an ash tray--closed upon something.
Miss Cornelia rose.
"Is that true, Dale?" she said sorrowfully.
Dale nodded. "Yes." She could not trust herself to explain at
greater length.
Then Miss Cornelia made one of the most magnificent gestures of
her life.
"Well, even if it is--what has that got to do with it?" she said,
turning upon Anderson fiercely, all her protective instinct for
those whom she loved aroused.
Anderson seemed somewhat impressed by the fierceness of her query.
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