Two policemen were herding disheveled drabs and an occasional protesting man down the stairs. They converged on Shayne and pinioned his arms, cursing him violently. He tried to drag himself free, but one of them snapped handcuffs on his wrist while the other knelt on the floor to help the bluecoat.
The door opened and Lucile looked out timidly. When she saw Shayne handcuffed she ran to him with a little cry and threw her arms around his neck. “What’s happening?” she sobbed against his undershirt. “I don’t understand — I don’t remember—”
Shayne said coldly, “We were doped and brought here, undressed and put to bed together, and then the cops staged a raid.”
One of the cops dragged Lucile away from him, thrust her forward toward the stairway leading down. “Cut out the stuff, sister, and get on down with the other floosies.”
Her brown eyes made a wild appeal to Shayne. He nodded and said, “Go ahead before these bastards manhandle you. I’ll be down.”
“You’re damned right you will. Start walkin’.”
Shayne held his handcuffed wrists out to the man who had put them on him. “How about unlocking these things and let me finish getting dressed? I guess I went kind of crazy,” he confessed ruefully.
The cop smiled good-naturedly and said, “Sure.”
The bluecoat whom he had knocked down was coming toward Shayne with his fists doubled and a snarl on his face. The other officer shouldered him aside and commanded, “Go on down and help load ’em in the wagon, Groat. I’ll bring this guy along.”
The officer unlocked Shayne’s handcuffs and said, “Go ahead and put your shirt on. I know it’s tough to get hooked like this, but hell! we’re only following orders. It’ll only be a suspended sentence for you guys that were here.”