“I don’t like to take a chance with this fellow,” he admitted. “Do you want me to, Miss Stockbridge? It’s your life he was after, and he may be shamming now. You never can trust an opium addict. They have no soul.”
“I’ve as much as a copper’s!”
“Shut up, you!” boomed Delaney, threateningly. “Shut up! There’s a lady in this room!”
The prisoner clicked his cuffs together. He stared at the cheval glass and the telephone. “A lady?” he repeated through the corner of his lips. “A limb of the Stockbridge tree,” he said bitterly. “I hold nothing against her. I told you that before. But we promised the old man we’ll take care of her after we killed him, and she came near going—let me tell you that. I could have killed her with twenty words.”
“He’s rambling,” said Delaney, reaching for the prisoner. “The dope has gone to his head. I don’t believe there’s any––”
“Easy, Delaney,” warned Drew thoroughly on the alert. “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating this fellow. He acts like a man who has repented—who wants to right some of the wrong he has done. I don’t think we are taking chances in letting this fellow loose. He is unarmed. I tended to that. If he wants to ’phone—let’s let him.”
“Your case, Chief!”
Drew reached in his pocket and brought around a police regulation revolver. “I’ll have this right here!” he snapped as he slowly raised it. “You, Delaney, unlock one cuff and pass it to me. I’ll wrap the chain around my left wrist. If this fellow tries anything I’ll tend to his case—forever. These .44’s are made for stopping purposes, eh, Mr. Nichols?”
“They certainly are, Mr. Drew. I think we can handle that little man without trouble. What does he want to telephone for?”
“What for, Bert?” asked Drew, swinging and confronting the prisoner. “Do you want to say good-by to somebody?”