Not another word was said until we stood before the clerk at the Central Office. The matter-of-fact way in which he picked up a pen and poised it over the police docket, the callous indifference with which he inquired the prisoner's name and the nature of the charge, made Burke flinch for the first time.
"Wait, Johnson!" I said suddenly to the clerk, as if on second thought. "I don't believe I 'll docket this man yet; I want to keep the pinch quiet for a while."
The game was familiar to Johnson; he laid aside the pen as indifferently as he had taken it up, and returned to his interrupted perusal of the morning paper.
"You come with me," I said to Burke.
I conducted him to the little room behind the Captain's private office—scene of many a heart-to-heart conference—and pushed him toward one of the two chairs which constituted the room's sole furnishing. It was a dim, silent, disheartening place, and I was resolved to have no mercy upon the man whom at last I had succeeded in getting into a position where I could handle him.
"Burke," I began, "I 'm not going to mince matters or stand for any quibbling or lying. I have you right where I want you, and whatever leniency you may receive will depend entirely upon your frankness. This is your chance—the last one."
No doubt my expression and manner were grim, I meant them to be and there was no doubt that my obvious confidence in my position impressed the ex-secretary; for the fingers grew more agile, and he licked his dry lips again and again.
"What am I charged with?" he demanded, in a shaking voice.
"Nothing, as yet," I returned cheerfully. "You doubtless noticed that I dispensed with that little formality. Do you know what that means? Just this: no one knows you are here; there is a certain small cell below stairs, dark as Egypt, provided expressly for recalcitrant individuals. You could lie there for a year, and nobody be a whit the wiser. I, for one, wouldn't care how long you stayed."
"Swift," the fellow stammered, "this—this is outrageous!"