The newspaper men pulled wry faces.
“The police hang onto the Italian musician and profess to think he’s the guilty party,” said one. “If they have taken any steps beyond this, before today, we have not known of it.”
“Why have the detectives been placed to watch Miss Vale’s house?” asked the other. “And what has Osborne gone in to talk about?”
“Ah,” said Ashton-Kirk, with interest, “Osborne is within, is he?”
“Yes; and why are you going in? What has been learned regarding Miss Vale’s connection with the case that has not already been made public?”
“I would hardly undertake to answer that last,” laughed Ashton-Kirk. “So much has been made public in one way and another that I haven’t been able to keep track of it all. My own visit is merely a friendly call. Why Mr. Osborne is here I, of course, cannot say.”
Leaving the newspaper men disappointed and dissatisfied, the investigator rang the bell and was admitted. In the hall, pulling on his gloves, was Osborne.
“Hello!” exclaimed the latter. “So you thought you’d have a try, too, eh?”
The big man’s tone showed that he was none too well pleased with his own visit; he jerked at his gloves viciously, and his brow was creased with vexation. And seeing that the other was disposed to do nothing more than nod, he went on:
“Well, you’ll have to have a lot better luck than I’ve had, to have any at all. Miss Vale, it seems, is a young lady who knows very well how to say nothing. I’ve been here something like an hour and have put her through a regular third degree; but I’ve had my labor for my pains, as the saying is. She has told me nothing except her opinion of the newspapers and the police.”
“Miss Vale will see you, sir,” said the manservant, returning.
“And so you’ve given it up?” queried the investigator of Osborne.
The big headquarters man shrugged his shoulders.
“Hardly,” said he. “I’ve set a time on the thing. We scarcely like to go to extremes, as you perhaps know; but unless a clean breast of the matter is made, as far as the party knows,” modifying his language because of the listening servant, “the same party will know what the inside of a cell is like by this time tomorrow.”
“You really mean to make an arrest?”
“If we are forced to—yes.”
Ashton-Kirk followed him to the door:
“Extend the time limit,” suggested he. “Make it the day after tomorrow, and,” elevating his brows, “I don’t think that you’ll need to do anything unpleasant.”
“Ah,” said Osborne, “you’re onto something!” He regarded the other questioningly for a moment, then broke into a grin. “No use to ask what it is, I suppose? I thought not. Well,” reflectively, and in a lowered tone, “it won’t do any harm to oblige you, if the front office is willing. The party can’t make a move that we won’t know about; and the fact is, I’ve just advised that no going out of any kind be ventured on. So long, and good luck.”
The door closed behind Osborne, and then Ashton-Kirk followed the soft-footed servant down the hall, up the stairs and into the presence of Edyth Vale.
The girl received him smilingly.
“I’m getting to be a regular occurrence,” said he, as he sat down.
“But a welcome one, nevertheless,” she returned. “Indeed, if it were not for certain other depressing circumstances, I’d find your visits dreadfully exciting.”
“I suppose Osborne is one of the circumstances referred to. I just met him in the hall, and he seemed to be quite in a state of mind. What have you been saying to him?—or rather,” smiling, “what have you not been saying to him?”
“He came on what he calls ‘police business,’ ” smiled Miss Vale. “I considered it quite an alarming expression, and said so; but that made no impression on him, for he proceeded with a string of wonderfully conceived questions that must have covered my life from birth to the present time.”
“The police have about the same method for each case—a sort of bullying insistence that breaks down denial by sheer weight.”
“I have read of it, frequently, in complaining articles in both magazines and newspapers. I think I have even seen it very earnestly compared to the Inquisition.” The smile was still upon the girl’s lip, but as she continued, her voice shook a little. “However, I never thought to go through even a part of it myself.”
“What the police say may be embarrassing and mortifying,” said Ashton-Kirk gravely, “but it is nothing at all, compared with what they might do.”
Miss Vale drew in her breath in a little gasp of terror; but she made an effort to conceal it with a laugh.
“I know what you mean,” she said, lightly. “You think that they might go so far as to take me into custody as an accessory to the crime, or even as the actual criminal.”
“Mr. Osborne told me that such was their intention, if you do not explain clearly your connection with the case. I don’t think that the Department is at all anxious to draw you into the matter; but some of the newspapers, as you no doubt have noted, have grown very insistent. They say that a poor musician is jailed instantly, while the woman of fashion, who is perhaps equally guilty, is allowed to go free. Such ways of putting things have a great effect upon public opinion; the politicians who conduct the municipal departments know this, and always move to protect themselves, no matter in what direction the movement takes them.”
“Then,” said Miss Vale, “you really think they will do as Mr. Osborne said?”
“I have no doubt of it—if the matter is not cleared up before the time arrives for them to act.”
The girl arose and went to a window as though to look out; the investigator saw her hand pressed to her heart, and noted the trembling that had seized her. Yet, when she faced him once more, a moment or
