But the promptness of his answer only crystallized Beresford's
suspicions.
"Exactly," he said with terse finality. He turned to the detective.
"I've been trying to recall this man's face ever since I came in
tonight--" he said with grim triumph. "Now, I know who he is."
"Who is he?"
Bailey straightened up. He had lost his game with Chance--and the
loss, coming when it did, seemed bitterer than even he had thought
it could be, but before they took him away he would speak his mind.
"It's all right, Beresford," he said with a fatigue so deep that it
colored his voice like flakes of iron-rust. "I know you think you're
doing your duty--but I wish to God you could have restrained your
sense of duty for about three hours more!"
"To let you get away?" the young lawyer sneered, unconvinced.
"No," said Bailey with quiet defiance. "To let me finish what I
came here to do."
"Don't you think you have done enough?" Beresford's voice flicked
him with righteous scorn, no less telling because of its
youthfulness. He turned back to the detective soberly enough.
"This man has imposed upon the credulity of these women, I am quite
sure without their knowledge," he said with a trace of his former
gallantry. "He is Bailey of the Union Bank, the missing cashier."
The detective slowly put down his cigar on an ash tray.
"That's the truth, is it?" he demanded.
Dale's hand flew to her breast. If Jack would only deny it--even
now! But even as she thought this, she realized the uselessness
of any such denial.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195