Mr. Bernstine now approached the speaker, a hurt look upon his face.
"Mr. Ashton-Kirk," said he, "why did you not tell us about this piece
of business? Why did you not enlighten us? How _could_ you go away and
leave us in the dark? We are very much occupied, and have little time
to look at the newspapers. It was only by accident that Sime happened
to see one." Lowering his voice, he added: "There's a smart fellow for
you; he saw the whole thing in an instant. And so we came right here
to do what we can to help justice." He squared his shoulders
importantly.
"He's seen the bayonet and is prepared to swear to it," stated
Osborne, elated.
"What of the picture of Spatola in the paper?" asked the investigator.
"Does he recognize that?"
Osborne's face fell once more.
"These half-tones done through coarse screens are never any good,"
said he. "They'd make Gladstone look like Pontius Pilate. He's going
to have a look at the man himself, and that'll settle it."
With that a turnkey was dispatched; and in a few moments he returned,
accompanied by a half dozen prisoners; one was a slim, dark young man
with a nervous, expressive look, and a great tangle of curling black
hair. The face was haggard and drawn; the eyes were frightened; the
whole manner of the man had a piteous appeal.
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