“Let him go, Judge. Will you?”
“Are you a lawyer?” The judge leaned forward to stare at him.
“No, your Honor. But I know more law than your Swanson or Darrow or—”
“You should have been a lawyer. What are you?”
Again the stranger went up on his toes. “Your Honor, for seventeen years I was a detective on the police force of New York. I ranked as a lieutenant, your Honor.”
“This fellow is a romancer,” Johnny whispered to an attorney who stood beside him. “He doesn’t know truth from lies.”
“He is telling the truth,” was the astounding reply. “I know him. He was rated high.”
The lawyer scribbled a sentence on a slip of paper. He handed it to the judge.
This movement did not escape the stranger.
“Your Honor,” he pleaded, “don’t let any of this get into the papers. I have a mother eighty-six years old. It would kill her.”