"What for?"
"Hold 'em out."
I pressed the cold muzzle of the revolver against his temple a little harder.
He understood the significance of the movement, and loathfully put out his hands.
"Howard, I don't like this," he said, in an assumed angry tone, to carry out the idea that he considered it in the light of a practical joke.
"You'll like it less before I get through with you," as I snapped the handcuffs on his wrists. "To be a thief is bad enough, but to call yourself a detective and then be in league with a gang of cut-throats, river-pirates and burglars, is far worse, and I give you my word that I intend to shove you as hard as I can."
Stanton's jaw fell.
He was cornered and confounded.
"Lost!" he groaned.
And then, with bent head, he walked dumbly along at my side.