Part 7 (1/2)
”That goes without saying; but we're up against something more than the police.”
”If Tom Martin or Sam Apgar was the prosecutor now,” wailed Broderick, ”we'd have no trouble. They used to come to me regularly for instructions----”
Thorne rose slowly, paced the entire length of his long private office, treading noiselessly the thick, green carpet like a cat.
”But,” he protested, ”Martin isn't prosecutor, neither is Apgar.
Murgatroyd is prosecutor, and----”
”Confound the man!” interrupted Broderick. ”He's so straight that he leans over backwards. It was he who said six weeks ago that the Tweedale suicide was the last straw; that if another fracas occurred inside of Cradlebaugh's it would be good-bye to Cradlebaugh's. And now there's this blamed murder!”
Thorne looked Broderick in the eye for a moment and asked:--
”Do you know that this murder happened inside of Cradlebaugh's?”
”No; but I'm satisfied it did.”
”Have you talked to Pemmican?”
Broderick stared in surprise.
”No; but haven't you?”
Thorne shook his head.
”You forget that I waited here for you. Now that you're here, my idea is to see Pemmican and get the facts.”
”The captain of the ---- Precinct will be there,” explained Broderick.
”He understands that you're counsel for Cradlebaugh's--see?”
”Come on,” repeated Thorne; ”we'll go and see Pemmican.”
Broderick remained seated. Presently he said hesitatingly:--
”Just a second, counsellor--I wish you'd draw a cheque for five for me.”
”Dollars?”
”No.”
”Hundreds?”
”No.”
”Five thousand!” Thorne whistled. ”Coming it just a bit strong, Broderick.”
Broderick vigorously shook his head.
”Now, look here, Thorne, I've got no complaint to make of you, and you've got no complaint to make of me. You've paid me well, but you've had blamed good returns for it, haven't you? Come now!”