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"Who are you?" he roared, as if aroused to a burning fury. "I am a friend of Mr. Collins," returned Fanwell. "I won't permit a friend of mine to be dragged to prison this way." "Be careful you are interfering with an officer of the law," cautioned Britz. "If you arrest him you might as well arrest me too," said Fanwell. "But you won't keep us behind the bars long.
Being unfamiliar with Collins's habits and his capacity for drink, Fanwell was trying desperately to think of some means of restoring the drunken man to a condition in which his perverted sense of injuries suffered would inspire his tongue to further revelations. "Is he a chronic drunk or an occasional drinker?" the detective whispered to Cooper. "Chronic," came the whispered reply.
So he determined to change his tactics, but in a way not to inspire Collins with an exultant sense of victory. Britz passed a wink to Fanwell, who nodded understandingly. Up to this time no glint of recognition had passed between them, and they were careful to hide their silent signal from Collins.
Fanwell Livingston was curled in the window-seat in his front room, his book close to the bleared pane, striving to find light enough by which to study. Outside it was raining in a weary, desultory way, and the heavens were leaden-hued. Livingston's quarters were on the front of that big lemon-yellow house at the corner of Oak and King Streets, about equidistant from campus and field.
Plenty of witnesses could be obtained who would testify to having heard Collins threaten to kill the merchant. But whether he had actually carried out his threat remained to be proved. Fanwell was aware that at Police Headquarters opinion as to Collins's guilt was divided.
In the end delight in the frustration of the sophomores' plan gained the ascendency, and he resolved that although Neil would miss the freshman dinner he should have it made up to him. And so in his speech an hour or so later Fanwell Livingston told the astonished company of the attempted kidnaping and of its failure, and never before had Odd Fellows' Hall rang with such laughter and cheering.
"I am Detective-Lieutenant Britz," the visitor said in even tones. "Sit down, Collins!" Collins obeyed. Not voluntarily, but because he was unable to resist the domination of the detective's will. Also, a terrible fear had gripped his heart, producing a terror that sobered him and gave him command of all his faculties. "Who are these men?" inquired Britz, nodding toward Cooper and Fanwell.
He bestowed a compassionate glance on the bewildered Collins, then executed a despairing gesture as if he meant to convey that the situation had passed out of his hands. "Collins, I believe you're innocent. Why don't you speak and clear yourself?" urged Fanwell. Coming, as it seemingly did, from a disinterested friend, the advice struck Collins with peculiar force.
I'm from the West, but thank goodness! I have unlimited credit here. I know where to obtain bail in any amount." "The charge against this man is murder in the first degree," Britz retorted. "The crime is not bailable." The information seemed to stagger Fanwell.
Britz did not believe him guilty, Greig seemed hopelessly befuddled by the conflicting evidence, while Chief Manning dared not venture an opinion. But a majority of the other detectives engaged on the case seemed confident that Collins was the man. Fanwell wondered whether Britz had been led into an error of judgment. Over Collins a slow transformation was creeping.
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