"Aw come, old woman!" said Kouka, seizing her by the arm fiercely. "Come, don't give us any of the bull con. Where is he?"
Kouka held to her arm; he shook her and swore. Mrs. Koerner swallowed, managed to say something, but in German. And then instantly the four officers, as if seized by some savage, irresistible impulse, began to rummage and ransack the house. They tore about the little parlor, entered the little bedroom that had been Gusta's; they looked everywhere, in the most unlikely places, turning up mats, chairs, pulling off the bed-clothes. Then they burst into the room behind. Suddenly they halted and huddled in a group.
There, in the center of the room, stood old man Koerner, clad in his red flannel underclothes, in which he must have slept. He had an air of having just got out of bed; his white hair was tumbled, and he leaned on one crutch, as if one crutch were all that was necessary in dishabille. Below the stump of his amputated leg the red flannel leg of his drawers was tied into a knot. He presented a grotesque appearance, like some aged fiend. Under the white bush of his eyebrows, under his touseled white hair, his eyes gleamed fiercely.
"Vat de hell ails you fellers?"
"We want Archie," said Kouka, "and, by God, we're going to have him, dead or alive." He used the words of the advertised reward. "Where is he?"
Kouka and the other officers glanced apprehensively about the room, as if Archie and Curly might start out of some corner, or out of the floor, but in the end their glances came always back to Koerner, standing there in his red flannels, on one crutch and one leg, the red knot of the leg of his drawers dangling between.
"You vant Archie, huh?" asked Koerner. "Dot's it, aind't it--Archie--my poy Archie?"
"Yes, Archie, and we want him quick."
"Vat you want mit him, huh?"
"It's none of your business what we want with him," Kouka replied with an oath. "Where is he? Hurry up!"