"I did not."
"You're lying!"
"I'm not lying—it's the truth."
So it went on, hour after hour, relentlessly, pitilessly, while the patient Maloney, in the obscure background, took notes.
CHAPTER X.
The clock ticked on, and still the merciless brow-beating went on. They had been at it now five long, weary hours. Through the blinds the gray daylight outside was creeping its way in. All the policemen were exhausted. The prisoner was on the verge of collapse. Maloney and Patrolman Delaney were dozing on chairs, but Captain Clinton, a marvel of iron will and physical strength, never relaxed for a moment. Not allowing himself to weaken or show signs of fatigue, he kept pounding the unhappy youth with searching questions.
By this time Howard's condition was pitiable to witness. His face was white as death. His trembling lips could hardly articulate. It was with the greatest difficulty that he kept on his feet. Every moment he seemed about to fall. At times he clutched the table nervously, for fear he would stumble. Several times, through sheer exhaustion, he sat down. The act was almost involuntary. Nature was giving way.
"I can't stand any more," he murmured. "What's the good of all these questions? I tell you I didn't do it."
He sank helplessly on to a chair. His eyes rolled in his head. He looked as if he would faint.