“We’ll get it out of him,” he declared. He glanced at a sheet of paper and handed it over to Crowell. “I’ve got all the dope there, haven’t I?”
“Nearly everything,” replied Crowell.
“What do you mean, nearly everything?”
“Well” — Crowell spoke hesitatingly — “it may not be important, but when I got there last night, I found a corner of a rug turned under—”
“Forget that foolishness!” roared Zull.
“It’s the third time,” objected Crowell. “First, with that man who was dead in old Galvin’s study. Then Harkness, who knew old Galvin. Now it’s Galvin’s nephew—”
“Talk sense!” ordered Zull. “Go out and take a walk. Call me up in ten minutes. I’ll tell you then when I want you back.
“I’m going to let this smart guy rest a while. He’ll be bewildered when he wakes up.”
Crowell left the room, while Zull’s keen eyes were still watching the nodding form of Bob Galvin.
The Acting Inspector sat with folded arms. He intended to break this man’s resistance; to force a confession.