g?"

"Not just yet," grinned the captain. "I want to put a few questions to
him first."

The coroner smiled.

"You're going to put him through the 'third degree,' eh? Every one's
heard of your star-chamber ordeals. Are they really so dreadful?"

"Nonsense!" laughed the captain. "We wouldn't harm a baby, would we
Maloney?"

The sergeant quickly endorsed his chief's opinion.

"No, cap."

Turning to go, the coroner said:

"Well, good night, captain."

"Good night, Mr. Coroner."

Howard listened to all this like one transfixed. They seemed to be
talking about him. They were discussing some frightful ordeal of which
he was to be the victim. What was this "third degree" they were talking
about? Now he remembered. He had heard of innocent men being bullied,
maltreated, deprived of food and sleep for days, in order to force them
to tell what the police were anxious to find out. He had heard of secret
assaults, of midnight clubbings, of prisoners being choked and brutally
kicked by a gang of ruffianly policemen, in order to force them into
some damaging admission. A chill ran down his spine as he realized his
utter helplessness. If he could only get word to a lawyer. Just as the
coroner was disappearing through the door, he darted forward and laid a
hand on his arm.

"Mr. Coroner, won't you listen to me?" he exclaimed.

The coroner, startled, drew back.

"I cannot interfere," he said coldly.

"Mr. Underwood was a friend of mine," explained Howard. "I came here to
borrow money. I fell asleep on that sofa. When I woke up he was dead. I
was frightened. I tried to get away. That's the truth, so help me God!"

The coroner looked at him sternly and made no reply. No one could ever
reproach him with sympathizing with criminals. Waving his hand at
Captain Clinton, he said:

"Good night, captain."

"Good night, Mr. Coroner."

The door slammed and Captain Clinton, with a twist of his powerful arm,
yanked his prisoner back into his seat. Howard protested.

"You've got no right to treat me like this. You exceed your powers. I
demand to be taken before a magistrate at once."

The captain grinned, and pointed to the clock.

"Say, young feller, see what time it is? Two-thirty A. M. Our good
magistrates are all comfy in their virtuous beds. We'll have to wait
till morning."

"But what's the good of sitting here in this death house?" protested
Howard. "Take me to the station if I must go. It's intolerable to sit
an