"I s'pose youse're from Baxter?" the faint voice continued.
"From the District Attorney."
"Yes." A whimsical lightness appeared in the voice. "I been waitin' for youse. Lucky youse come when youse did. A few minutes later an' youse might not 'a' found me still waitin'."
He placed his hands beside him and weakly tried to rise, but fell back with a little groan. The big policeman and another officer helped him to his feet. The big policeman tried to keep an arm round him for support, but Foley pushed it away and leaned against the wall, where he stood a moment gazing down on the hundreds of faces. His shirt was ripped open at the neck and down to the waist; one sleeve was almost torn off; his vest was open and hung in two halves from the back of his neck; coat he had not had on. His face was beginning to swell, his lips were bloody, and there was a dripping cut on his forehead.
One of the plain clothes men drew out a pair of handcuffs.
"Youse needn't put them on me," Foley said. "I'll go with youse. Anyhow——"
He glanced down at his right hand. It was swollen, and was turning purple.
The plain clothes man hesitated.
"Oh, he can't give us no trouble," said the big policeman.
The handcuffs were pocketed.