But Bailey's heart was not in the search.

His mind kept going back to the figure of Dale--nervous, shaken, undergoing the terrors of the third degree at Anderson's hands.
She couldn't have shot Fleming of course, and yet, unless he and Billy found something to substantiate her story of how the killing had happened, it was her own, unsupported word against a damning mass of circumstantial evidence.

He plunged with renewed vigor into his quest.
Back in the living-room, as he had feared, Anderson was subjecting Dale to a merciless interrogation.
"Now I want the real story!" he began with calculated brutality.

"You lied before!" "That's no tone to use! You'll only terrify her," cried Miss Cornelia indignantly.

The detective paid no attention, his face had hardened, he seemed every inch the remorseless sleuthhound of the law.