Loris frowned slightly at Drew’s manner. The detective did not act like his former self. She watched him pace the floor between the prisoner and the tapestries. He came back with a square set to his jaw and a hard glint in his olive eyes which gleamed like steel behind velvet.
“Stand him up!”
Delaney stared at his chief. He opened his mouth, then closed it firmly. “All right,” he said, reaching down. “I’ll stand him up if you let me give him an upper-cut. I don’t like these silent crooks. They’re snaky, Chief.”
“No unnecessary violence, gentlemen,” suggested Nichols as Loris laid her hand on his arm. “I’d like to have him alone for a few minutes—but outside. Go easy. Perhaps he’ll talk.”
“It may be your life or this man’s!” gritted Drew, stepping up to the prisoner after a sharp glance at Loris. “I pity him when Fosdick gets hold of him. He’ll talk then!”
The prisoner swayed with Delaney’s fingers gripping his collar in a vice-strong clutch. His white-pale face, his narrow-set eyes, his furtive glance to left and right like a cornered rat, brought Drew to mind of a man who was slowly breaking down. He lowered his brows and clutched the prisoner’s elbow with strong fingers that pressed deep through the coat sleeve.
“Out with it!” he demanded harshly. “It’s your last chance to save your miserable skin. You’re not going to get any mercy from the Commissioner. You know what he’ll do to you!”
The prisoner twisted loose from Drew’s clutch. His eyes wavered as he stared at Loris for a long second, then dropped to the floor. They closed in painful thought. Suddenly he blanched with passion.
“I’ve no use for you coppers!” he screamed shrillingly. “I hate the sight of you and your kind. Let me go! Let me go!”
“Fine chance,” whispered Delaney, tightening his grip on the prisoner’s collar. “You got a fine chance, you murderin’, thievin’, second-story man! I’d paste you if the lady wasn’t here! Sure I would, right between the eyes!”