“Certainly,” Brockey answered. “He’s got a jag on.”
They halted in the center of the room, and looked back at the detective, who did not stir.
“Suppose he should be shamming?” Darwin remarked, in an undertone.
“G’way,” Brockey retorted.
“He may have heard what we were talking about.”
“Not much.”
“I have a sort of feeling that he is a spy.”
Brockey gazed intently at Carter.
Without uttering a word, he strode across the room and clutched hold of the detective by the shoulder, shaking him vigorously.
“Wosh de ma-asher!” Carter growled, making no attempt to resist. “Wosh de ma-asher,” he mumbled, a second time, in a maudlin tone. “Lesh a fel’ alone.”