“The law,” returned Markham with acerbity, “can hardly be expected to throw out cases because they’re too convincing.”
“On the other hand,” pursued Vance, ignoring the comment, “it is quite obvious that Drukker, even if not guilty, knows something that has a direct and vital bearing on the case; and my humble suggestion is that we attempt to prise this information out of him. Sperling’s testimony has given us the lever for the purpose. . . . I say, Mr. Arnesson, what’s your opinion?”
“Haven’t any,” the man answered. “I’m a disinterested onlooker. I’d hate, however, to see poor Adolph in durance vile.” Though he would not commit himself it was plain that he agreed with Vance.
Heath thought, characteristically, that immediate action was advisable, and expressed himself to that effect.
“If he’s got anything to tell he’ll tell it quick enough after he’s locked up.”
“It’s a difficult situation,” Inspector Moran demurred, in a soft judicial voice. “We can’t afford to make an error. If Drukker’s evidence should convict some one else, we’d be a laughing-stock if we had arrested the wrong man.”
Vance looked toward Markham and nodded agreement.
“Why not have him on the tapis first, and see if he can’t be persuaded to unburden his soul. You might dangle a warrant over his head, don’t y’ know, as a kind of moral inducement. Then, if he remains coy and reticent, bring out the gyves and have the doughty Sergeant escort him to the bastille.”
Markham sat tapping indecisively on the desk, his head enveloped in smoke as he puffed nervously on his cigar. At last he set his chin firmly and turned to Heath.
“Bring Drukker here at nine o’clock to-morrow morning. You’d better take a wagon and a John-Doe warrant in case he offers any objection.” His face was grim and determined. “Then I’ll find out what he knows—and act accordingly.”