He fairly snatched the watch from Corcoran’s hand. The younger patrolman turned to Kenton.
“Who’s the old bird, anyway?” he asked in an undertone.
Kenton established the captain’s connection with the affair in a few words. In the meantime the old man had pried open the gold case with his heavy thumbnail and was squinting inside.
“See!” he affirmed, pointing to the initials “T. J. M.” engraved there.
Corcoran nodded carelessly.
“‘Big Jim,’ all right,” he said decisively. “He’s the man that killed McFadden here.”
“Big Jim” stared at his captor, chewing vigorously.
“No kill!” he exclaimed. “No kill!”
Kenton had been frowning perplexedly. Now he turned to Corcoran.
“Say, Bill,” he demanded, “how did you get over here, anyhow? Who told you there’d been a man killed?”