“The murder of Colonel Conrad, you mean?”
“Yes. There is not a doubt that the prisoner is guilty. Excuse me, my dear fellow”—to Carlos—“for speaking so plainly, but I can see it in your eye. Can’t you?”—to the officer.
“Yes, indeed! I said so all along.”
Officer George Johnson was flattered at the idea of holding converse with one so high up in the business as to have reached the station of a New York detective. He began to swell with gratified vanity.
“It seems to me I’ve seen the prisoner before. You know we detectives get to be pretty familiar with faces of most of the rascals in the country?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” replied Mr. Johnson.
“I beg your pardon,” said Carlos. “You cannot be very familiar with my face. I have been in the country only a short time——”
“You keep your mouth still,” commanded the officer.
“Oh, let him talk,” said the detective, pleasantly. “It’s amusing to hear the stories these fellows will make up. But you know we take them for what they are worth.”
“Certainly,” assented Mr. Johnson, with a wise look.