Slim affected not to have heard, but his gestures lacked smoothness.
"Let's see how you enjoy your own jewelry, Garth."
And he reached in Garth's pocket and drew out the pair of handcuffs he had been certain to find there. He snapped them on the detective's wrists. The four confederates lounged forward, produced stout cords, and bound them about Garth's ankles. His momentary resistance was smothered by Nora's sharp cry:
"Don't fight, Jim!"
His sense of utter helplessness increased, while the men, in obedience to Slim's gestures, stretched him on the floor. The surface was wet, as if the ooze of the river had penetrated this far. Slim stooped and glared at him, his eyes exposing a measureless resentment.
"Thanks for walking into our parlor, you fly cop. We heard how you and the skirt had fallen for each other. We guessed if we gave you a lead with some of her trinklets, you'd play the busy sleuth hound."
Nora's voice held the quality of a sob.
"Jim! Why did you come?"
He shrugged his shoulders. He forced on himself a semblance of confidence.
"Planted or not, the trail was my best chance."