“Damn the rock,” Noonan barked. “And stop bleeding on my rug.”

MacSwain hunted in his pocket for a dirty handkerchief, mopped his nose and mouth with it, and jabbered on:

“That’s the way it was, chief. Everything else was like I said at the time, only I didn’t say anything about hearing him say Max done it. I know I hadn’t ought to⁠—”

“Shut up,” Noonan said, and pressed one of the buttons on his desk.

A uniformed copper came in. The chief jerked a thumb at MacSwain and said:

“Take this baby down cellar and let the wrecking crew work on him before you lock him up.”

MacSwain started a desperate plea, “Aw, chief!” but the copper took him away before he could get any farther.

Noonan stuck a cigar at me, tapped the document with another and asked: