Joe Garson had shouted his confession without a second of reflection.But the result must have been the same had he taken years of thought.Between him and her as the victim of the law, there could be no hesitation for choice.Indeed, just now, he had no heed to his own fate.The prime necessity was to save her, Mary, from the toils of the law that were closing around her.For himself, in the days to come, there would be a ghastly dread, but there would never be regret over the cost of saving her.Perhaps, some other he might have let suffer in his stead--not her! Even, had he been innocent, and she guilty of the crime, he would still have taken the burden of it on his own shoulders.He had saved her from the waters--he would save her until the end, as far as the power in him might lie.It was thus that, with the primitive directness of his reverential love for the girl, he counted no sacrifice too great in her behalf.Joe Garson was not a good man, at the world esteems goodness.On the contrary, he was distinctly an evil one, a menace to the society on which he preyed constantly.But his good qualities, if few, were of the strongest fiber, rooted in the deeps of him.He loathed treachery.His one guiltiness in this respect had been, curiously enough, toward Mary herself, in the scheme of the burglary, which she had forbidden.But, in the last analysis, here his deceit had been designed to bring affluence to her.It was his abhorrence of treachery among pals that had driven him to the murder of the stool-pigeon in a fit of ungovernable passion.
He might have stayed his hand then, but for the gusty rage that swept him on to the crime.None the less, had he spared the man, his hatred of the betrayer would have been the same....And the other virtue of Joe Garson was the complement of this--his own loyalty, a loyalty that made him forget self utterly where he loved.The one woman who had ever filled his heart was Mary, and for her his life were not too much to give.
The suddenness of it all held Mary voiceless for long seconds.
She was frozen with horror of the event.
When, at last, words came, they were a frantic prayer of protest.
"No, Joe! No! Don't talk--don't talk!"
Burke, immensely gratified, went nimbly to his chair, and thence surveyed the agitated group with grisly pleasure.
"Joe has talked," he said, significantly.
Mary, shaken as she was by the fact of Garson's confession, nevertheless retained her presence of mind sufficiently to resist with all her strength.
"He did it to protect me," she stated, earnestly.
The Inspector disdained such futile argument.As the doorman appeared in answer to the buzzer, he directed that the stenographer be summoned at once.
"We'll have the confession in due form," he remarked, gazing pleasedly on the three before him.
"He's not going to confess," Mary insisted, with spirit.
But Burke was not in the least impressed.He disregarded her completely, and spoke mechanically to Garson the formal warning required by the law.
"You are hereby cautioned that anything you say may be used against you." Then, as the stenographer entered, he went on with lively interest."Now, Joe!"Yet once again, Mary protested, a little wildly.
"Don't speak, Joe! Don't say a word till we can get a lawyer for you!"The man met her pleading eyes steadily, and shook his head in refusal.
"It's no use, my girl," Burke broke in, harshly."I told you I'd get you.I'm going to try you and Garson, and the whole gang for murder--yes, every one of you....And you, Gilder," he continued, lowering on the young man who had defied him so obstinately, "you'll go to the House of Detention as a material witness." He turned his gaze to Garson again, and spoke authoritatively: "Come on now, Joe!"Garson went a step toward the desk, and spoke decisively.
"If I come through, you'll let her go--and him?" he added as an afterthought, with a nod toward Dick Gilder.
"Oh, Joe, don't!" Mary cried, bitterly."We'll spend every dollar we can raise to save you!""Now, it's no use," the Inspector complained."You're only wasting time.He's said that he did it.That's all there is to it.Now that we're sure he's our man, he hasn't got a chance in the world.""Well, how about it?" Garson demanded, savagely."Do they go clear, if I come through?""We'll get the best lawyers in the country," Mary persisted, desperately."We'll save you, Joe--we'll save you!"Garson regarded the distraught girl with wistful eyes.But there was no trace of yielding in his voice as he replied, though he spoke very sorrowfully.
"No, you can't help me," he said, simply."My time has come, Mary....And I can save you a lot of trouble.""He's right there," Burke ejaculated."We've got him cold.So, what's the use of dragging you two into it?""Then, they go clear?" Garson exclaimed, eagerly."They ain't even to be called as witnesses?"Burke nodded assent.
"You're on!" he agreed.
"Then, here goes!" Garson cried; and he looked expectantly toward the stenographer.
The strain of it all was sapping the will of the girl, who saw the man she so greatly esteemed for his service to her and his devotion about to condemn himself to death.She grew half-hysterical.Her words came confusedly:
"No, Joe! No, no, no!"
Again, Garson shook his head in absolute refusal of her plea.
"There's no other way out," he declared, wearily."I'm going through with it." He straightened a little, and again looked at the stenographer.His voice came quietly, without any tremulousnesss.
"My name is Joe Garson."
"Alias?" Burke suggested.
"Alias nothing!" came the sharp retort."Garson's my monaker.Ishot English Eddie, because he was a skunk, and a stool-pigeon, and he got just what was coming to him." Vituperation beyond the mere words beat in his voice now.
Burke twisted uneasily in his chair.
