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"My dear sir," Dr. De Breen interrupted, with asperity, "a prisoner under charge of first degree murder cannot be admitted to bail; not even by the court having jurisdiction of his case, much less I. The police are now responsible for the young man's movements."
He deliberately turned his back upon the millionaire speculator, and strode away. Years after that scene, Dr. De Breen confided to me that Fluette had given him the impression that he was hinting at a bribe.
The words, however, seemed to strike Mr. Fluette like a physical blow.
He winced perceptibly, and his face worked with agitation. But he rose splendidly to the occasion. In a second or so his customary commanding dignity returned, and his keen eyes flashed with resolution and defiance. He wheeled upon Maillot at the instant that much distressed young man was persuaded by Genevieve to leave Belle's side.
"Maillot," said he, in a firm voice, "I sincerely regret any hard feelings I may have entertained for you in the past. You are not only a courageous young man, but an innocent one, and one, therefore, that is being made to suffer a grievous wrong. I wish to say so here publicly; I wish, too, to say publicly that I mean to see that you have at your disposal the best legal talent procurable."
Maillot's reception of this proffer was peculiar. He looked the man of money squarely in the eyes for an instant; then his lips twisted into a mocking smile. He nodded his head ever so slightly, but the movement was unmistakably a curt rejection.
"Thank you," he said dryly, his voice low and even. "But I intend getting out of this sc.r.a.pe myself, Mr. Fluette; I don't wish to occasion you any future embarra.s.sment. Please don't mistake my meaning."
Fluette made no further effort, and it was impossible to determine just how the rebuff--it was no less--affected him; he had himself too well in hand, now. He began preparations for conveying home his still unconscious daughter, and before they departed I contrived to have a private word with Genevieve. Her face was very tragic.
"I must see you alone--as soon as possible," I said hurriedly.
"I can't leave Belle," she whispered. "What is it?"
"My first request from my lieutenant," I chided, smiling down at her.
"Don't!" she pleaded. "I shall come. Where? When?"
"Dear me, no. I'll do the coming; it's only 'when'?"
"To-morrow?" she suggested doubtfully. "You know, we 're all so upset.
And Belle--" The dear girl nearly broke down. "Yes, do come," she murmured tearfully, "as early as you can; everything depends upon you, now."
I caught her hand. "Please don't worry," I whispered; "everything will come out right. I can't bear to see you suffer. Will eight o'clock be too early?"
"No."
"I 'll not say 'Be brave,' for you 're the bravest girl in the world; but please, please don't fret and worry. Here 's your coachman.
Good-bye."
She smiled wanly. "I sha'n't," she said. "Good-bye--till to-morrow morning."
She pressed my hand and ran lightly out.
Maillot now came over to where I was standing. He was very pale, his face was drawn with lines of suffering (more for Miss Belle than on his own account, beyond doubt), but his manner was quite composed. In fact, his demeanor was more subdued--chastened, as it were--than I had seen it at any time during our brief acquaintance.
"Well, it's over," he remarked bitterly.
"Don't be an a.s.s," I returned. "If you are innocent, nothing worse can happen."
He smiled whimsically, quickly taking me up.
"And if guilty, the worst is yet to come, eh? Well, at any rate, I 'm your prisoner."
"Not necessarily mine," I said.
"By preference. I can't stand for those roughneck cops, and Stodger as a custodian is a joke. I 'd be too strongly tempted to dump him into the first handy snow-drift, and cut loose. I don't suppose you 'll insist on any rot about handcuffs and all that sort of thing?"
Notwithstanding his pretence of humorous indifference, there was a question in his tone, and he peered at me a bit anxiously. I grinned.
"I don't know," I said. "I won't take any chances on being dumped into a snow-drift."
"Rot! You know I could n't if I wanted to."
"Mr. Fluette could have helped you, Maillot."
I looked at him narrowly. He shrugged his shoulders, merely, and produced and lighted a cigarette.
"Let's go," he said, flipping the match away.
Stodger was left on guard at the Page place. My prisoner and I walked to a car and proceeded to police headquarters.
His att.i.tude, naturally enough, was one of extreme dejection; nevertheless I tried to cheer him up--vainly--and when opportunity offered I also tried to get some light upon the ring episode.
"It does n't do for me to express an opinion one way or another as to your probable guilt or innocence, Maillot," I said at one time; "but I can tell you this much for your encouragement.
"Since the murder, several developments have turned up which convince me that there 's a deal more in the crime than either you or I can at present conceive. You can keep it in mind that I see more work ahead than I did immediately after quizzing you and Burke Wednesday morning.
. . . By the way, that ring you slipped upon your finger this morning, whose is it?"
For a second he frowned with an air of trying to recall the incident.
Suddenly his face cleared.
"Did you notice that?" he returned, with perfect composure. "It's mine--was my mother's wedding ring."
I was watching him intently. He met my regard with a level look.
"In the habit of wearing it?" I asked.
"Sometimes."
"See here," I came to the point with abrupt directness. "You appreciate quite as much as I do the significance of that broad band of gold on the middle finger of your right hand. Why did you put it there at such a time?"
He sat silent.
"You 've become mighty close-mouthed all at once," I sharply urged.
He gave me a little half-smile, and glanced away.
"By advice of counsel I refuse to talk," said he, quietly.
"If you are the counsel, you have a fool for a client--and _vice versa_," I retorted. "I suppose, too, that you refuse any a.s.sistance that I--"
Instantly his a.s.sumed indifference vanished.