"Look them over carefully," directed he. "Take your time."
"I don't need to," answered the freckled shipping clerk. He pointed to the dark young man. "That's the man of the picture; but I never seen him before, anywhere."
Osborne put his fingers under his collar and pulled as though to breathe more freely; then he motioned another attendant to take the remaining prisoners away.
"I see," said he. "He was too foxy to buy the thing himself. He sent someone else." Then he fixed his eye on the prisoner and continued: "We've got the bayonet on you; so you might as well tell us all about it."
"I don't understand," said Spatola, anxiously.
"The easier you make it for us, the easier it will be for you," Osborne told him. "If you make us sweat, fitting this thing to you, we'll give you the limit. Don't forget that."
"I have done nothing," said Spatola, earnestly. "I have done nothing. And yet you keep me here. Is there not a law?"
"There is," said Osborne, grimly. "That's what I'm trying to tell you about. Now, who bought the bayonet?"
With a truly Latin gesture of despair, the Italian put his hands to his forehead.
"Always Hume," he said. "Always Hume! I can not be free of him. He was evil!" in a sort of shrill whisper. "Even when he is dead, I am mocked by him. He was all evil! I believe he was a devil!"
"That was no reason why you should kill him," said Osborne in the positive manner of the third degree.
"I did not kill him," protested Spatola. "There were many times when it was in my heart to do so. But I did not do it!"
"I've heard you say all that before," stated Osborne, wearily. Then to the turnkey: "Take him away, Curtis."
"Just a moment," interposed Ashton-Kirk. "I came here to have a few words with this prisoner, and by your leave, I'll speak to him now."
"All right," replied Osborne. "Help yourself."
He led Bernstine and Sime out of the cell room; the turnkey, with professional courtesy, moved away to a safe distance, and Ashton-Kirk turned to the Italian.
"You were once first violin with Karlson," said he. "I remember you well. I always admired your art."
An eager look came into the prisoner's face.
"I thank you," he said. "It is not many who will remember in me a man who once did worthy things. I am young," with despair, "yet how I have sunken."