Trenmore twisted him around and glared in a manner so fiendishly terrifying that the little man's ruddy face paled to a sickly greenish white.
"The truth, little rat! Where did you get it?"
"I–I-Leggo my arm; you're twisting it off! I'll tell you."
Terence, who had not really meant to torture the little round man, released him but continued to glare.
"I got it over in a house on Walnut Street."
"You did? When?"
The man glanced from one to the other. His cherubic face assumed a look of sudden, piteous doubt, like a child about to cry.
"Well, as near as I can make things out, it was about two hundred years ago I done that! But I'd of took oath it was no later than this morning! Now send me to the bughouse if you want. I'm down and out!"
"Two-hundred-years!" This from Drayton. "Terry, I begin to see daylight in one direction, at least. My man, where did you acquire that yellow button you are wearing?"
The captive glanced down at his lapel. "I lifted it off a guy that had been hittin' up the booze. Everybody else in town was wearing one, and I got pinched for not; but I shook the cop and then I got in style." He grinned deprecatingly.