His face thus
was turned toward the windows that gave on the corridor, and his
eyes grew yet more clouded as they rested on the grim doors of
the cells. He writhed in his chair, and his gaze jumped from the
cells to the impassive figure of the man at the desk. Now, the
forger's nervousness increased momently it swept beyond his
control. Of a sudden, he sprang up, and stepped close to the
Inspector.
"Say," he said, in a husky voice, "I'd like--I'd like to have a
lawyer."
"What's the matter with you, Joe?" the Inspector returned,
always with that imperturbable air, and without raising his head
from the work that so engrossed his attention. "You know, you're
not arrested, Joe. Maybe, you never will be. Now, for the love
of Mike, keep still, and let me finish this letter."
Slowly, very hesitatingly, Garson went back to the chair, and
sank down on it in a limp attitude of dejection wholly unlike his
customary postures of strength. Again, his fear-fascinated eyes
went to the row of cells that stood silently menacing on the
other side of the corridor beyond the windows.
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