But his grip seemed to slip and he only moved his prisoner a few inches. He tried again with about the same result.
"Get a move on, Tim," he said pantingly. "He's bigger, somehow, than he looks, and awful heavy; it'll take both of us. Get up, Braxton, unless you want the club!"
The man settled solidly in the depths of the chair.
"Club and be hanged!" he replied with a snap of his jaw. "I won't go in any dirty police wagon—that's flat! You may take me in a hearse first. Get a cab or a taxi, if I have to go with you!"
"Gamey old sport, anyhow, by Jove!" I thought with sudden admiration. Couldn't help it, dash it! Heart just went out to him, somehow.
I gently interposed as O'Keefe prepared to lunge again.
"I'll stand the cab for him, officer," I said with a smile, "if your rules, don't you know, or whatever it is, will allow."
I added in a lowered voice:
"Makes it devilish easier for you, don't you know, and avoids such a jolly row. And—er—I want to ask you and your friend to accept from me a little token of my appreciation."
The policeman exchanged a glance with Tim and considered.