brother-in-law of Felderson, the blood-sucking millionaire who sent me
to jail. I won't talk with you, do you hear?"

As he grew more excited I seemed to grow cooler.

"Zalnitch, I'm going to swear out a warrant against you for my
brother's murder."

For a moment the little man blinked at me in amazement; then he threw
back his head and laughed, a shrill, giggling squeak. With his fists
he pounded his misshapen legs.

"You arrest me for his murder? Hee-hee! You hear, Schreiber? He is
going to--to arrest me!"

Suddenly he stopped, as quickly as he had started.

"Go ahead! Arrest me! Try to send me to prison again. I'll make you
sweat blood before you are through. You think I killed him--your
brother? I wish I had. I'd be proud to say I killed him! You hear?
I wish I had killed him. I wish he were alive so I _could_ kill him."

The little monstrosity emphasized each of his staccato sentences by
stamping a puny foot on the floor. His gloating over Jim's death was
more than flesh could stand.

"Stop!" I yelled. "If it wasn't you that killed him, it was one of
that murderous gang of cutthroats and anarchists that was with you. If
it wasn't you, then it was Schreiber's son--that Prussian jail-bird, or
one of his friends."

Zalnitch's eyes blazed. "You call us anarchists and cutthroats. You,
who are a product of the rotten government that has ground down and
oppressed the people I represent. Because we rebel, you throw us in
prison, making a mockery of your boasted liberty. So they did for a
time in Russia. You call us 'cutthroats.' It's a good term. I hope
to God we earn that title."

Finding that the talk was turning into a political harangue, I turned
my back on Zalnitch and started toward the door. Schreiber followed me.

"Chust one minud." There was heavy menace in his look. "You galled my
son a chail-bird a minud ago. He vas in chail because he did righd,
but dot don't matter. You're egsited, because your brodder vas gilled.
Ve don't know nodding aboud it. Ve heard aboud it de nexd day. I
don'd have nodding against Velderson, bud if you dry to pud my son,
Karl, in chail again, someding vill happen to you. I'm delling dis to
you vor your own good."

Disappointed at the interview, I closed the door behind me and started
down the hall. I don't know just what I had hoped to find out, but I
thought Zalnitch would betray himself in some way--must in some way
show his guilty knowle