"Michael," said the commissioner, "bring in Follet."
We started at the words, and then we saw a dark smile upon the face of the cold-hearted commissioner, that told how keenly he enjoyed our misery.
"If you please, sir," said Michael, cap in hand, and a beseeching glance upon his face, "I think that Follet is lying, for I've known him for six months past, and never saw or heard much about his habits that is favorable."
"I did not ask your opinion or advice, sir," interrupted the commissioner, in the same cold tone, and with a look that almost froze the policeman; "do as I bid you, and learn to keep silent."
Michael looked as though he would like to make a reply, but fear of losing his place prevented. He walked slowly to the door, and after a delay of a few minutes, escorted our accuser, Follet, into the store.
The fellow's face was deadly pale, and his eyes were never once raised during the interview. He had evidently schooled himself for the part that he was to play, by imbibing deeply of some spirituous liquor, for he was rather unsteady in his gait; but that might have been the result of agitation as well as whiskey.
"Are these the two men whom you alluded to in my office this morning?" the commissioner inquired, pointing to Fred and myself.
The scoundrel, without raising his eyes, replied in the affirmative.
"Repeat in their presence what you told me, and mind that you don't tell two stories."
The fellow cleared his throat, which was rather husky, and in a monotonous tone began. The policemen, who were lounging near the door, had all edged their way into the store, and listened to the recital with many expressions of wonder and disbelief upon their faces.