Pemmican drew himself together. Hitherto his attitude had been one of fearful deference toward Thorne; now he was defiant.
"You can't keep me muzzled!" he repeated.
Broderick took a long breath and rose as though to throttle Pemmican. Thorne waved him to his seat.
"Pemmican," said Thorne, "you need some sleep."
"I don't need sleep nor coaching either," retorted Pemmican. "I'm going to tell the truth about this murder."
"Well," said Broderick soothingly; "you've told it—to us."
Thorne fastened Pemmican with his cold, penetrating glance of displeasure. Pemmican shivered, but was game.
"This murder," Pemmican maintained desperately, "was committed by Challoner in Room A of this gambling house! I don't care if the house does pay me my salary, I don't care if I am in charge here, the house can't make me lie!" He paused for a moment and then went on:—
"This killing followed a row over a game of cards. I heard the row; I saw the shooting; and it's up to me to lay my cards down on the table. I'll give up what I know!"
"You'll do nothing of the sort!" said Thorne threateningly.