Shane O’Connell, looking into her honest gray eyes, knew that he could trust her.  Slowly—­brokenly—­tensely, he told her how he had killed Red McGurk, and why.

The corridors were full of shadows when Althea Beekman put her hands on Shane O’Connell’s shoulders and bade him good night.  Though she abominated his crime and loathed him for having committed it she felt in some way partially responsible, and she also perceived that, by the code of the O’Connells, Shane had done what he believed to be right.  He had taken the law into his own hands and he was ready to pay the necessary penalty.  He would have done the same thing all over again.  To this extent at least he had her respect.

She found Mr. Tutt waiting for her on the bench by the warden’s office.

“Well?” he asked with a smile, rising to greet her and tossing away his stogy.

“I haven’t very good news for you,” she answered regretfully.  “He’s confessed to me—­told me everything—­why he shot him and where he bought the pistol.  He’s a brave boy, though!  It’s a sad case!  But what can you do with people who believe themselves justified in doing things like that?”

She did not notice Detective Eddie Conroy, of the D.A.’s office, standing behind an adjacent pillar, ostentatiously lighting a cigar; nor see him smile as he slowly walked away.

* * * * *

“Talk about luck!” exulted O’Brien, the yellow dog of the district attorney’s office, an hour later to his chief.  “What do you think, boss?  Eddie Conroy heard Miss Beekman telling old man Tutt over in the Tombs that O’Connell had confessed to her!  Say, how’s that?  Some evidence—­what?”

“What good will that do us?” asked Peckham, glancing up with a scowl from his desk.  “She won’t testify for us.”

“But she’ll have to testify if we call her, won’t she?” demanded his assistant.

The district attorney drummed on the polished surface before him.

“We—­ell, I suppose so,” he admitted hesitatingly.  “But you can’t just subpoena a woman like that without any warning and put her on the stand and make her testify.  It would be too rough!”

“It’s the only way to do it!” retorted O’Brien with a sly grin.  “If she knew in advance that we were thinking of calling her she’d beat it out of town.”

“That’s true,” agreed his chief.  “That’s as far as she’d go, too, in defying the law.  But I don’t much like it.  Those Beekmans have a lot of influence, and if she got sore she could make us a heap of trouble!  Besides it’s sort of a scaly trick making her give up on him like that.”

O’Brien raised his brows.

“Scaly trick!  He’s a murderer, isn’t he?  And he’ll get off if we don’t call her.  It’s a matter of duty, as I see it.”

“All the same, my son, your suggestion has a rotten smell to it.  We may have to do it—­I don’t say we won’t—­but it’s risky business!” replied Peckham dubiously.