The rascal’s mental torture was something difficult to describe. He had no hope of mercy if arraigned in court. How he bitterly cursed himself for having made a premature attack on the detective.
“Hold out your right hand.”
Bull did not seem inclined to obey.
“Quick, or I’ll shoot.”
The hand was put forward. Hare snapped a steel cuff on it, and soon after the connecting one enclasped Blair’s other wrist.
“Now,” said Hare, “I’ve just got you where I want you.”
“This is all dead wrong.”
“Why, my dear fellow.”
“Because I have committed no crime,” replied Blair.
“I suppose you’ll even deny having assaulted me?”