“What will you do with them?” Johnny Thompson broke in, poking a thumb at Greasy Thumb and his partner in crime who stood huddled sulkily in a corridor of the police court building.
“We’ll take them right to the Chief,” Drew replied cheerfully. “He’ll book them. We’ve got the goods on ’em. The world will not see them again for many a day.”
They led the prisoners to an elevator, rode up two flights, walked down a dark corridor and entered a room where a heavy-set man with beady eyes sat behind a massive desk.
This was the Chief. He looked at the youthful detectives through eyes that seemed heavy for lack of sleep.
Drew advanced in silence and placed the Air Mail envelope on the Chief’s desk.
“What’s this?” The Chief did not look up.
“Evidence.”
“Evidence!” the Chief exclaimed. “That’s what we need. The people are clamoring for convictions. We must have evidence. We—”
At that moment he looked up and his glance fell upon the cowering prisoners.
Like a pike caught on a spoon-hook, he appeared to stiffen. He continued to stare straight ahead.