Once in Cradlebaugh's, the domineering influence of Broderick again asserted itself.
"Where's Pemmican?" he inquired gruffly; and without waiting for an answer: "send him along right away!"
The liveried man who did his bidding bowed a bit familiarly to him, but very deferentially to Thorne. The latter he knew as a patron of the place, but one who did not play.
Almost instantly Pemmican came. His face was haggard, pale, his eyes heavy with sleeplessness, and upon him generally was the air of a man who had passed through some nightmare that with the dawn had turned out to be hideously true. He took them at once to the private room where the captain of police was waiting.
"Captain," said Broderick, "this is my counsel. He's a rattler for advice when a man's in a tight hole, and I thought I'd just fetch him along. Captain Whally—Counsellor Thorne." And turning at once upon Pemmican, Broderick proceeded to interrogate him.
"Now just where did this thing happen?"
Pemmican looked at the captain, at Broderick and then at Thorne before answering. Then he said:—
"Room A."
"Then it was pulled off in here?"
"Yes."