But even as he spoke, his voice ended in a surprised scream of agony, which told of strained sinews and ripped tendons, and he fell in a twisted, crumpled heap of quivering, inert flesh at the detective’s feet, the victim of a scientific hold and throw which had not been included in his pugilistic education.
Instantly Blaine’s hand found an electric bell in the wall, and almost simultaneously the door opened and three powerful figures sprang upon the huge, recumbent form and bound him fast.
“Take him away,” ordered the detective. “I’ll have the warrant ready for him.”
“Warrant for what?” spluttered Carlis, through bruised and bleeding lips. “I didn’t do anything to you! You attacked me because I wouldn’t swear to a false charge. I got a legal right to try to defend myself!”
“You’ve convicted yourself, out of your own mouth,” retorted Blaine.
The other looked into his eyes and quailed, but blustered to the end.
“Nobody heard, but you, and my word goes, in this town! What d’you mean––convicted myself?”
For answer Blaine again touched that little spring in the protruding under-ledge of his desk, and out upon the trenchant stillness, broken only by the rapid, stertorous breathing of the manacled man, burst the strident tones of that same man’s voice, just as they had sounded a few minutes before:
“‘But the big money––the money Lawton made by grinding down the masses––wouldn’t you like a slice of it yourself, Blaine––a nice, fat, juicy slice.... Oh, we’re all in it, you may as well be!... The play got too high for Rockamore, and he cashed in; you’ve bluffed old Mallowe till he’s looking up sailing dates for Algiers, but I knew you’d be sensible, when it came to the scratch, and divide the pot, rather than blow your whistle and have the game pulled.... Who made it possible for Mallowe to palm off those miles of vacant lots––as improved city property, of course––on Lawton without his knowledge, and even have them recorded in his name, but me? What am I boss for, if I don’t own a little man like the Recorder of Deeds?’”