Bailey realized it, too.
"It's true, all right," he admitted hopelessly. He closed his eyes
for a moment. Let them come with the handcuffs now and get it over.
--every moment the scene dragged out was a moment of unnecessary
torture for Dale.
But Beresford had not finished with his indictment. "I accuse him
not only of the thing he is wanted for, but of the murder of Richard
Fleming!" he said fiercely, glaring at Bailey as if only a youthful
horror of making a scene before Dale and Miss Cornelia held him back
from striking the latter down where he stood.
Bailey's eyes snapped open. He took a threatening step toward his
accuser. "You lie!" he said in a hoarse, violent voice.
Anderson crossed between them, just as conflict seemed inevitable.
"You knew this?" he queried sharply in Dale's direction.
Dale set her lips in a line. She did not answer.
He turned to Miss Cornelia.
"Did you?"
"Yes," admitted the latter quietly, her knitting needles at last at
rest. "I knew he was Mr. Bailey if that is all you mean."
The quietness of her answer seemed to infuriate the detective.
"Quite a pretty little conspiracy," he said. "How in the name of
God do you expect me to do anything with the entire household united
against me? Tell me that."
"Exactly," said Miss Cornelia. "And if we are united against you,
why should I have sent for you? You might tell me that, too."
He turned on Bailey savagely.
"What did you mean by that 'three hours more'?" he demanded.
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