“What became of the girl?”
The little wretch only grinned and turned away to wait on a new customer.
But he was not to get rid of the champion detective so easily, for the hand of Carter darted over the counter and fastened on him like the talons of a vulture.
In Nick’s grip the man was a babe, and as the hand seemed to sink to his bones he emitted a whimper that sounded like a whine and looked blankly into the detective’s face.
“I—I never saw the girl,” he cried.
“No lies, sir. I want the truth. Who told you to drug me?”
“No one. I—I drug nobody. I’m honest.”
“So is Satan,” hissed the detective, and just then the little wretch appealed to the owner of the establishment for protection.
“No interference, Number Six,” said the detective, with a look at the broad-shouldered owner of the Trocadero, and the man thus designated winced.
“Tell the gentleman the truth, Caddy,” he said to the little man; but that person was still stubborn.