No one else heard. These rooms
are fixed to keep out noise, and the piano was going. We broke in
and found them on the floor. The man was shot through the shoulder,
the girl through the body. His story is that after she fired, in
trying to get the gun from her, she shot herself-by accident.
That's right, I guess. But the girl says they came here to die
together--what the newspaper call a 'suicide pact'-- because they
couldn't marry, and that he first shot her, intending to kill her
and then himself. That's silly. She framed it to get him. She
missed him with the gun, so now she's trying to get him with this
murder charge. I know her. If she'd been sober she wouldn't have
shot him; she'd have blackmailed him. She's that sort. I know her,
and----"
With an exclamation the district attorney broke in upon her. "And
the man," he demanded eagerly; "was it HE killed Banf?"
In amazement the woman stared. "Certainly NOT!" she said.
"Then what HAS this to do with Banf?"
"Nothing!" Her tone was annoyed, reproachful. "That was only to
bring you here"
His disappointment was so keen that it threatened to exhibit itself
in anger. Recognizing this, before he spoke Wharton forced himself
to pause. Then he repeated her words quietly.
"Bring me here?" he asked. "Why?"
The woman exclaimed impatiently: "So you could beat the police to
it," she whispered.
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