“Well, Nick, I have come here to give myself into custody,” said Flood, with unaltered quietude. “You being a good friend, and a man I have always admired, I preferred to have you take me in rather than one of those infernally meddlesome sleuths of the central office. Nick, I yield myself your prisoner.”
To say that Chick Carter was startled and surprised is putting it tamely.
Nick, however, was not in the least surprised. He had, with extraordinary shrewdness, and for reasons presently to appear, expected nothing less.
“My prisoner, eh?” said he, smiling, with a curious twinkle in his eye. “For what, Mose?”
“For the murder of Cecil Kendall,” said Flood quietly. “I confess to having committed the crime, Nick, and you may run me in as soon as you please. The sooner the better.”
Nick sat back in his chair, elevated his heels to the edge of his desk, then said complacently, still oddly smiling:
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Flood, but I really cannot accept your magnanimous offer.”
“Not accept it!”
“No, Mose.”
“Why not?”