He had little black
beady eyes, a round fat white face, and a broad squabby Mongol
nose. His clothes were exceedingly seedy, and the police had
confiscated his collar and tie. This absence of neckwear, coupled
with the fact that the lower part of his face was sprouting with
a heavy growth of beard, gave him a peculiarly villainous
appearance:
He was seated on a chair, his head sunk on his breast. His eyes
were hollow, and his face overspread with a horrible sickly
greenish pallor, the hue of the last stage of fear. His hands,
resting on his knees, twisted and fiddled continually. Every now
and then convulsive shudders shook him. The man was quite
obviously on the verge of a collapse.
As the Chief and Desmond advanced into the room, the Jew looked
up in panic. Then he sprang to his feet with a scream and flung
himself on his knees, crying:
"Ah, no! Don't take me away! I ain't done no 'arm, gentlemen!
S'welp me, gentlemen, I ain't a murderer! I swear..."
"Get him up!" said the Chief in disgust, "and, look here, can't
you give him a drink? I want to speak to him. He's not fit to
talk rationally in this state!"
The detective pushed a bell in the wall, a policeman answered it,
and presently the prisoner was handed a stiff glass of whiskey
and water.
Pages:
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75