Quick, speak up; shall I?"

There was something so exultant--something so unnecessarily savage in
the officer's face that the man he held saw that the detective knew
him for what he really was, and the hands that had held his throat
slipped down around his shoulders, or he would have fallen. The man's
eyes opened and closed again, and he swayed weakly backward and
forward, and choked as if his throat were dry and burning. Even to
such a hardened connoisseur in crime as Gallegher, who stood closely
by, drinking it in, there was something so abject in the man's terror
that he regarded him with what was almost a touch of pity.

"For God's sake," Hade begged, "let me go. Come with me to my room and
I'll give you half the money. I'll divide with you fairly. We can both
get away. There's a fortune for both of us there. We both can get
away. You'll be rich for life. Do you understand--for life!"

But the detective, to his credit, only shut his lips the tighter.

"That's enough," he whispered, in return. "That's more than I
expected. You've sentenced yourself already. Come!"

Two officers in uniform barred their exit at the door, but
Hefflefinger smiled easily and showed his badge.

"One of Byrnes's men," he said, in explanation; "came over expressly
to take this chap. He's a burglar; 'Arlie' Lane, _alias_ Carleton.
I've shown the papers to the captain. It's all regular. I'm just going
to get his traps at the hotel and walk him over to the station. I
guess we'll push right on to New York to-night."