Within the Law [87]
pushed the implication brutally.
"Want to go back for another stretch?" The Inspector's voice was freighted with suggestions of disasters to come, which were well understood by the cringing wretch before him.
The thief shuddered, and his face, already pallid from the prison lack of sunlight like some noxious growth of a cellar, became livid. His words came in a muffled moan of fear.
"God, no!"
Burke left a little interval of silence then in which the thieves might tremble over the prospect suggested by his words, but always he maintained his steady, relentless glare on the cowed creatures. It was a familiar warfare with him. Yet, in this instance, he was destined to failure, for the men were of a type different from that of English Eddie, who was lying dead as the meet reward for treachery to his fellows.... When, at last, his question issued from the close-shut lips, it came like the crack of a gun.
"Who shot Griggs?"
The reply was a chorus from the two:
"I don't know--honest, I don't!"
In his eagerness, Chicago Red moved toward his questioner--unwisely.
"Honest to Gawd, I don't know nothin' about it!"
The Inspector's fist shot out toward Chicago Red's jaw. The impact was enough. The thief went to his knees under the blow.
"Now, get up--and talk!" Burke's voice came with unrepentant noisiness against the stricken man.
Cringingly, Chicago Red, who so gloried in his strength, yet was now altogether humble in this precarious case, obeyed as far as the getting to his feet was concerned.... It never occurred to him even that he should carry his obedience to the point of "squealing on a pal!" Had the circumstances been different, he might have refused to accept the Inspector's blow with such meekness, since above all things he loved a bit of bodily strife with some one near his own strength, and the Inspector was of a sort to offer him a battle worth while.
So, now, while he got slowly to his feet, he took care to keep at a respectful distance from the official, though his big hands fairly ached to double into fists for blows with this man who had so maltreated him.
His own self-respect, of its peculiar sort, was saved by the interference of Cassidy, who entered the Inspector's office to announce the arrival of the District Attorney.
"Send 'im in," Burke directed at once. He made a gesture toward the doorman, and added: "Take 'em back!"
A grin of evil humor writhed the lips of the police official, and he added to the attentive doorman a word of direction that might well be interpreted by the malevolent expression on his face.
"Don't be rough with 'em, Dan," he said. For once, his dominating voice was reduced to something approaching softness, in his sardonic appreciation of his own humor in the conception of what these two men, who had ventured to resist his importunities, might receive at the hands of his faithful satellites.... The doorman grinned appreciatively, and herded his victims from the place. And the two went shamblingly in sure knowledge of the things that were in store. Yet, without thought of treachery. They would not "squeal"! All they would tell of the death of Eddie Griggs would be: "He got what was coming to him!"
The Inspector dropped into his swivel chair at the desk whilst he awaited the arrival of Demarest, the District Attorney. The greetings between the two were cordial when at last the public prosecutor made his appearance.
"I came as soon as I got your message," the District Attorney said, as he seated himself in a chair by the desk. "And I've sent word to Mr. Gilder.... Now, then, Burke, let's have this thing quickly."
The Inspector's explanation was concise:
"Joe Garson, Chicago Red, and Dacey, along with Griggs, broke into Edward Gilder's house, last night! I knew the trick was going to be pulled off, and so I planted Cassidy and a couple of other men just outside the room where the haul was to be made. Then, I went away, and after something like half an hour I came back to make the arrests myself." A look of intense
"Want to go back for another stretch?" The Inspector's voice was freighted with suggestions of disasters to come, which were well understood by the cringing wretch before him.
The thief shuddered, and his face, already pallid from the prison lack of sunlight like some noxious growth of a cellar, became livid. His words came in a muffled moan of fear.
"God, no!"
Burke left a little interval of silence then in which the thieves might tremble over the prospect suggested by his words, but always he maintained his steady, relentless glare on the cowed creatures. It was a familiar warfare with him. Yet, in this instance, he was destined to failure, for the men were of a type different from that of English Eddie, who was lying dead as the meet reward for treachery to his fellows.... When, at last, his question issued from the close-shut lips, it came like the crack of a gun.
"Who shot Griggs?"
The reply was a chorus from the two:
"I don't know--honest, I don't!"
In his eagerness, Chicago Red moved toward his questioner--unwisely.
"Honest to Gawd, I don't know nothin' about it!"
The Inspector's fist shot out toward Chicago Red's jaw. The impact was enough. The thief went to his knees under the blow.
"Now, get up--and talk!" Burke's voice came with unrepentant noisiness against the stricken man.
Cringingly, Chicago Red, who so gloried in his strength, yet was now altogether humble in this precarious case, obeyed as far as the getting to his feet was concerned.... It never occurred to him even that he should carry his obedience to the point of "squealing on a pal!" Had the circumstances been different, he might have refused to accept the Inspector's blow with such meekness, since above all things he loved a bit of bodily strife with some one near his own strength, and the Inspector was of a sort to offer him a battle worth while.
So, now, while he got slowly to his feet, he took care to keep at a respectful distance from the official, though his big hands fairly ached to double into fists for blows with this man who had so maltreated him.
His own self-respect, of its peculiar sort, was saved by the interference of Cassidy, who entered the Inspector's office to announce the arrival of the District Attorney.
"Send 'im in," Burke directed at once. He made a gesture toward the doorman, and added: "Take 'em back!"
A grin of evil humor writhed the lips of the police official, and he added to the attentive doorman a word of direction that might well be interpreted by the malevolent expression on his face.
"Don't be rough with 'em, Dan," he said. For once, his dominating voice was reduced to something approaching softness, in his sardonic appreciation of his own humor in the conception of what these two men, who had ventured to resist his importunities, might receive at the hands of his faithful satellites.... The doorman grinned appreciatively, and herded his victims from the place. And the two went shamblingly in sure knowledge of the things that were in store. Yet, without thought of treachery. They would not "squeal"! All they would tell of the death of Eddie Griggs would be: "He got what was coming to him!"
The Inspector dropped into his swivel chair at the desk whilst he awaited the arrival of Demarest, the District Attorney. The greetings between the two were cordial when at last the public prosecutor made his appearance.
"I came as soon as I got your message," the District Attorney said, as he seated himself in a chair by the desk. "And I've sent word to Mr. Gilder.... Now, then, Burke, let's have this thing quickly."
The Inspector's explanation was concise:
"Joe Garson, Chicago Red, and Dacey, along with Griggs, broke into Edward Gilder's house, last night! I knew the trick was going to be pulled off, and so I planted Cassidy and a couple of other men just outside the room where the haul was to be made. Then, I went away, and after something like half an hour I came back to make the arrests myself." A look of intense