"It is a secret you are telling him," Brubitsch said. "That is not right."
"What do you mean, it's not right?" Malone said.
"It is wrong," Brubitsch went on. "It is not the American way."
He went on, with some prodding, to tell about the activities of the spy ring. It did not seem to be a very efficient spy ring; Brubitsch's long sad tale of forgotten messages, mixed orders, misplaced documents and strange mishaps was a marvel and a revelation to the listening officers.
"I've never heard anything like it," one of them whispered in a tone of absolute wonder. "They're almost working on our side."
Over an hour later, Malone turned wearily away from the prisoner. "All right, Brubitsch," he said. "I guess that pretty much covers things for the moment. If we want any more information, though—"
"Call on me," Brubitsch said sadly. "I am not going any place. And I will give you all the information you desire. But I did not commit any murders—"
"Good-bye, small child," Malone said, as two agents led the fat man away. The other two left soon afterward, and Malone and Boyd were alone.
"Think he was telling the truth?" Boyd said.