Peckham the next morning. "I've told the cops who done it. Now you do
the rest--understand?"

Peckham understood very well. No one seeing the expression on McGurk's
purple countenance could have failed to do so.

"We'll get him! Don't you worry!" Peckham had assured the desolated
father with a manner subtly suggesting both the profoundest sympathy and
the prophetic glories of a juridical revenge in which the name of McGurk
would be upon every lip and the picture of the deceased, his family, and
the home in which they dwelt would be featured on the front page of
every journal. "We'll get him, all right!"

"See to it that ye do!" commented his visitor meaningly.

Therefore, though no one had seen him commit the crime, word was passed
along the line to pick up Shane O'Connell for the murder of Red McGurk.
It mattered not there was no evidence except the report of a muttered
threat or two and the lie passed openly the week before.

Everybody knew that Shane had done it, and why; though no one could tell
how he knew it. And because everybody knew, it became a political
necessity for Peckham to put him under arrest with a great fanfare of
trumpets and a grandiose announcement of the celerity with which the
current would be turned through his body.

The only fly in the ointment was the fact that O'Connell had walked into
the district attorney's office as soon as the rumor reached him and
quietly submitted to being arrested, saying merely: "I heard you wanted
me. Well, here I am!"