“That was a good give-away,” laughed Nick.
“If you say another word, I will brain you when I get out of here!” screamed Young, as he turned on Deck.
“All right, Billy; I will not make any more slips. I will keep my trap shut.”
“Now, inspector, that you have got me here, I would like you to tell me what you have me here for? I have not done anything, and it is a shame to deprive a man of his liberty when he is being on the level,” said Young.
“The reason that you were brought here is that you are charged with the murder of Tom Sweet, a detective in the employ of Nick Carter.”
“I didn’t happen to kill him; on the square, inspector, I did not do the work.”
“Then you admit that he was killed, do you?” asked the inspector.
“I don’t admit anything,” stammered Young. He saw that he had made a fatal slip, and he concluded that he would not talk any more.
“It is no use for you to try and question me any further. You might just as well take me to one of your rooms and put me there until you want me, as I don’t intend to give up anything.”
As the officers who had been holding Young by the arm opened the door to lead him away, he gave a wrench and threw them to one side.