"Monsieur," it was saying, "there are still the questions."
With shaking hand Jokai touched a metal king and screamed. The heat
and the hell-board hard upon his days and nights of enforced drinking
were too much. With a strangled sob, Jokai of Vienna pitched forward
upon the board unconscious.
Carl swept the metal men away with a shrug.
"Poor devil!" he said pityingly. "All this hell sooner than answer a
question or two. By to-morrow night, with another dose of the same
medicine, he'll feel differently. Likely I'll run up to Connecticut
to-night, Hunch, to see my aunt. I'll be back by noon to-morrow. Tear
off the window boards and give him some more air. You can move him to
another room in the morning."
Hunch obeyed, and presently as the street door slammed behind his
chief, Hunch's single eye roved expectantly to the forgotten whiskey on
the table. Jokai lay in a motionless stupor by the window. It would
be morning before the hapless drinker would be quite himself again.
With brutal, powerful arms, Hunch bore his charge to an adjoining room
and consigned him disrespectfully to a bed. Then with a fresh bottle
of whiskey in his hand, he returned to the open window, leered
pleasantly at the dizzy glare of city lights beyond and henceforth
devoted himself to getting very drunk.
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