Inspector McFee, an old officer who had been on the police force for twenty-five years, eyed her suspiciously. His short hair was dappled with gray, and his mustache was clipped squarely and severely on a level with his upper lip. Gusta had even greater fear of him than she had of the policeman, who now released his hold of her arm. Instinctively she drew away from him.
"Archie Koerner, eh?" said the inspector in a gruff voice.
At the name, a huge man, swart and hairy, in civilian's dress, standing by one of the big windows, turned suddenly and glowered at Gusta from under thick black eyebrows. His hair, black and coarse and closely clipped, bristled almost low enough on his narrow forehead to meet his heavy brows. He had a flat nose, and beneath, half encircling his broad, deep mouth, was a black mustache, stubbed and not much larger than his eyebrows. His jaw was square and heavy. A gleam showed in his small black eyes and gave a curiously sinister aspect to his black visage.
"What's that about Koerner?" he said, coming forward aggressively. Gusta shrank from him. She felt herself in the midst of powerful, angry foes.
"You say he's your brother?" asked the inspector.
"Yes, sir."
"What do you want of him?"
"Oh, I just want to see him, sir," Gusta said. "I just want to talk to him a minute--that's all, sir."
Her blue eyes were swimming with tears.
"Hold on a minute," said the man of the dark visage. He went up to the inspector, whispered to him a moment. The inspector listened, finally nodded, then took up a tube that hung by his desk and blew into it. Far away a whistle shrilled.