“Now you know the charge,” he shouted, “are you coming with us quietly, or—”
“Or what?”
The revolver still hovered across the table.
“Are we going to sit here all night?”
It was a weak conclusion, but to suggest an attack was sheer madness under the conditions.
“I guess not,” was the calm answer. “I want my dinner, and I mean to have it.”
“Very well. Eat your dinner and have done with it.”
“That’s better. You and your friend shall join me. We’ll have a nice little talk and straighten out matters, which have got kinder mixed.”
This was too much for White’s associate. He burst out laughing.
“I allowed there was a joke in the deal, somewhere,” went on Corbett, “but I haven’t quite got the hang of it yet. Now, Mr. White of Scotland Yard, are you going to act like a reasonable man, or must I keep your nose in line with the barrel?”