“I say your name is not Walker Farr.”
“You!” The tall young man darted a finger at Mullaney.
“I say you're Nelson Sinkler.”
“And what of him?”
“He is wanted by the state of Nebraska for murder.”
A sound that was mingled sigh and groan ran and throbbed from galleries to floor; it filled the great hall and seemed to vibrate back and forth over the assemblage. And for the long minute that the dreadful sound continued until it had breathed itself out into horrified silence the man who stood on the settee looked straight into the white face of the girl in the gallery.
But those of the throng who devoured him with eager stares could not discern one trace of confession on his countenance.
Then he did a strange thing.
He held his arms out toward Detective Mullaney and crossed them, wrist over wrist, and he smiled.
“If you are certain enough of your man to dare to arrest me, sir, I stand here waiting for the handcuffs.”