"Very well, sir."
One of the detectives left the suite with Prale and walked down the hall to the elevator. The second officer remained behind to go through Prale's things in an effort to find evidence.
Prale said nothing regarding the crime as they journeyed in the taxicab to police headquarters. His mind was busy, though. This appeared to be a culmination of the annoyances to which he had been subjected.
At headquarters he was ushered into a room where a captain of detectives awaited him.
"Don't have to talk unless you want to, Mr. Prale, but it probably will be better for you to do so, and have an end of it," the captain said. "Why did you kill Rufus Shepley?"
"That's a fool question. I didn't kill him. I had no idea he was dead until the officer arrested me for his murder. I scarcely know the man, captain. I made his acquaintance aboard a ship coming from Central America, and I met him but once after leaving the ship. He told me his business and gave me his card, and that is all. I'm ready to answer any questions you may ask. This is some terrible mistake. I want to talk about it—have an end of it, as you say."
"Very well, Prale," the captain said.
"Mr. Prale, if you please. I have not been convicted yet and am entitled to some courtesy, it seems to me."
"All right, if you're going to be nasty about it," the captain said. "But you won't gain anything by taking a high-and-mighty attitude with me."
"I simply object to being addressed in the tone you used," Prale replied. "I am no crook. Let's get down to business. Ask me any questions you like, and I'd like to ask a few myself."