Osborne turned to Sime.
"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?"
"The bayonet?" Spatola stared.
"The bayonet that Hume was killed with."
With a truly Latin gesture of despair, the Italian put his hands to
his forehead.
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