"No— Oh, God, let me alone! I want my sister! Josephine! Josephine!"
He started to cry. Colt looked at me and shrugged. We recognised the type. Keplinger the weakling was not breaking. He was simply escaping off into hysterics. It would be hours before he would be any good to us again. I led him away, while Colt arranged for another operative—Detective Gaxton—to meet the early morning plane from Detroit.
IT WAS NOW well on its way to nine o'clock and still we had cleared away only the preliminaries of the night's work; Gray and Sherrill, the two detectives who had searched the Swift apartment, were waiting to report—and after that, as Thatcher Colt told Dougherty, the real work on the case would begin.
But before these detectives could be summoned, there were two other matters to which
