"That's right," Guerilla soothed him. "Do anything you want with him." He went to the door of the other room and whispered, "Has he said enough, Bill?"
"About," answered Billy, pushing his chair back and standing up.
"But maybe he won't repeat it under oath when he's sober," worried Guerilla.
"We won't wait that long. We'll sic him on Felix right now. You go find out where Felix is, will you, Guerilla, and— Here, wait a shake! Better have Shotgun Shillman and Riley Tyler in on this. Huh? Course not! Don't tell 'em I'm here. Tell 'em——"
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JONESY'S ULTIMATUM
"You can't tell me that infernal Bill Wingo ain't at the bottom of all this business!" snarled Felix Craft. "Guerilla Melody and that Dawson friend of his didn't get Slike by themselves any more than I did. I tell you flat, Bill Wingo was the boss of that job. He was the brains, and you can't tell me different."
"And there was a time when we thought Bill didn't have any brains," Sam Larder grieved bitterly.
"I didn't," avowed the district attorney. "I always knew——"