"Papers," he snapped.
Joel's escort handed over a folder, which the captain took to his desk.
Joel's eyes returned to the next room. It was like being in a soundproof broadcasting cage, watching two men batter at each other beyond the glass.
One of the men had the other by the throat and was throttling him. The strangler's arms were corded; his face shone with sweat; there was an insane fixed glare in his eyes. The other man's tongue was protruding, as he tore at his assailant's wrists.
"My God!" Joel burst out. "Aren't you going to break it up?"
"Let them kill themselves," said the captain indifferently. He opened the door. "In with you," he said and shoved Joel into the melee.
Bedlam burst on his ears as he stumbled into the room.
A woman was screaming in a shrill hysterical voice. The men milled about pushing to see better. No one paid any attention to him.
He clenched his fists. He couldn't stand by and watch a man murdered.
Impulsively, he shouldered through the press, got his hands on the strangler's wrists, tore them away.