lls. The stenographer was to take his seat in this corridor, just
outside one of the windows. Over the windows, the shades were drawn, so
that he would remain invisible to any one within the office, while yet
easily able to overhear every word spoken in the room.

When he had completed his instructions to the stenographer, Burke turned
to Gilder and Demarest.

"Now, this time," he said energetically, "I'll be the one to do the
talking. And get this: Whatever you hear me say, don't you be surprised.
Remember, we're dealing with crooks, and, when you're dealing with
crooks, you have to use crooked ways."

There was a brief period of silence. Then, the door opened, and Mary
Turner entered the office. She walked slowly forward, moving with the
smooth strength and grace that were the proof of perfect health and of
perfect poise, the correlation of mind and body in exactness. Her form,
clearly revealed by the clinging evening dress, was a curving group of
graces. The beauty of her face was enhanced, rather than lessened, by
the pallor of it, for the fading of the richer colors gave to the fine
features an expression more spiritual, made plainer the underlying
qualities that her accustomed brilliance might half-conceal. She paid
absolutely no attention to the other two in the room, but went straight
to the desk, and there halted, gazing with her softly penetrant eyes of
deepest violet into the face of the Inspector.

Under that intent scrutiny, Burke felt a challenge, set himself to match
craft with craft. He was not likely to undervalue the wits of one
who had so often flouted him, who, even now, had placed him in a
preposterous predicament by this entanglement over the death of a spy.
But he was resolved to use his best skill to disarm her sophistication.
His large voice was modulated to kindliness as he spoke in a casual
manner.

"I just sent for you to tell you that you're free."

Mary regarded the speaker with an impenetrable expression. Her tones as
she spoke were quite as matter-of-fact as his own had been. In them was
no wonder, no exultation.

"Then, I can go," she said, simply.

"Sure, you can go," Burke replied, amiably.

Without any delay, yet without any haste, Mary glanced toward Gilder
and Demarest, who were watching the scene closely. Her eyes were somehow
appraising, but altogether indifferent. Then, she went toward the outer
door of the office, still with that almost lackadaisical air.

Burke wait