Shirley unostentatiously signaled for an encore on the
refreshments.
"You're nervous to-night, Captain. You've been doing things
before you consulted me--which is against our Rule Number One,
isn't it?"
The Captain gulped down his whiskey, and rubbed his forehead.
"Couldn't help it, Monty. It got too busy for me, before I
realized anything unusual in the case. See what I got from a
gangster before I landed here."
He turned his close-cropped head, as Montague Shirley leaned
forward to observe an abrasion at the base of his skull. It
was dressed with a coating of collodion.
"Brass knuckled--I see the mark of the rings. Tried for the
pneumogastric nerves, to quiet you."
"Whatever he tried for he nearly got. Kelly's nightstick got
his pneumonia gas jet, or whatever you call it. He's still
quiet, in the station house--You know old man Van Cleft, who
owns sky-scrapers down town, don't you?--Well, he's the center
of this flying wedge of excitement. His family are fine people,
I understand.
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