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Diamond Master

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<h3 id="id00539" style="margin-top: 3em">CHAPTER XII</h3> <h5 id="id00540">THE THIRD DEGREE</h5> Some years ago a famous head of the police department clearly demonstrated the superiority of a knock-out blow, frequently administered, as against moral suasion, and from that moment the "third degree" became an institution. Whatever sort of criticism may be made of the "third degree," it is, nevertheless, amazingly effective, and beyond that, affords infinite satisfaction to the administrator. There is a certain vicious delight in brutally smashing a sullen, helpless prisoner in the face; and the "third degree" is not officially in existence. Red Haney was submitted to the "third degree." His argument that he found the diamonds, and that having found them they were his until the proper owner appeared, was futile. Ten minutes after having passed into a room where sat Chief Arkwright, of the Mulberry Street force, and three of his men, and Steven Birnes, of the Birnes Detective Agency, Haney remembered that he hadn't found the diamonds at all—somebody had given them to him. "Who gave them to you?" demanded the chief. "I don't know the guy's name, Boss," Haney replied humbly. "This is to remind you of it." Haney found himself sprawling on the floor, and looked up, with a pleading, piteous expression. His eyes were still red and bleary, his motley face shot with purple, and the fumes of the liquor still clouded his brain. The chief stood above him with clenched fist. "On the level, Boss, I don't know," he whined. "Get up!" commanded the chief. Haney struggled to his feet and dropped into his chair. "What does he look like—this man who gave them to you? Where did you meet him? Why did he give them to you?" "Now, Boss, I'm goin' to give you the straight goods," Haney pleaded. "Don't hit me any more an' I'll tell you all I know about it." The chief sat down again with scowling face. Haney drew a long breath of relief. "He's a little, skinny feller, Boss," the prisoner went on to explain, the while he thoughtfully caressed his jaw. "I meets him out here in a little town called Willow Creek, me havin' swung off a freight there to git somethin' to eat. He's just got a couple of handouts an' he passes one to me, an' we gits to talkin'. He gits to tellin' me somethin' about a nutty old gazebo who lives in the next town, which he had just left. This old bazoo, he says, has a hatful o' diamonds up there, but they ain't polished or nothin' an' he's there by hisself, an' is old an' simple, an' it's findin' money, he says, to go over an' take 'em away from him. He reckoned there must 'a' been a thousan' dollars' worth altogether. "Well, he puts the proposition to me," Haney continued circumstantially, "an' I falls for it. We're to go over, an' I'm to pipe it all off to see it's all right, then I'm to sort o' hang aroun' an' keep watch while he goes in an' gives the old nut a gentle tap on the coco, an' cops the sparks. That's what we done. I goes up an' takes a few looks aroun', then I whistles an' he appears from the back, an' goes up to the kitchen for a handout. The old guy opens the door, an' he goes in. About a minute later he comes out an' gives me a handful o' little rocks—them I had—an' we go away. He catches a freight goin' west, an' I swings one for Jersey City." "When was this?" demanded Chief Arkwright. "What's to-day?" asked Haney in turn. "This is Sunday morning." "Well, it was yesterday mornin' sometime, Saturday. When I gits to Jersey I takes one o' the little rocks an' goes into a place an' shows it to the bar-keep. He gives me a lot o' booze for it, an' I guess I gits considerable lit up, an' he also gives me some money to pay ferry fare, an' the next thing I knows I'm nabbed over in the hock-shop. I guess I was lit up good, 'cause if I'd 'a' been right I wouldn't 'a' went to the hock-shop an' got pinched." He glanced around at the five other men in the room, and he read belief in each face, whereupon he drew a breath of relief. "What town was it?" asked the chief. "Little place named Coaldale." "Coaldale," the chief repeated thoughtfully. "Where is that?" "About forty or fifty miles out'n Jersey" said Haney. "I know the place," remarked Mr. Birnes. "You are sure, Haney?" said the chief after a pause. "You are sure you don't know this other man's name?" "I don't know it, Boss." "Who was the man you robbed?" "I don't know." The chief arose quickly, and the prisoner cringed in his seat. "I don't know," he went on protestingly. "Don't hit me again." But the chief had no such intention; it was merely to walk back and forth across the room. "What kind of man was he—a tramp?" Haney faltered and thoughtfully pulled his under-lip. The cunning brain behind the bleary eyes was working now. "I wouldn't call him a tramp," he said evasively. "He had on collar an' cuffs an' good clothes, an' talked sort o' easy." "Little, skinny man you said. What color was his hair?" The chief turned in his tracks and regarded Haney with keen, inquiring eyes. The prisoner withstood the scrutiny bravely. "Sort o' blackish, brownish hair." "Black, you mean?" "Well, yes—black." "And his eyes?" "Black eyes—little an' round like gimlet holes." "Heavy eyebrows, I suppose?" "Yes," Haney agreed readily. "They sort o' stuck out." "And his nose? Big or little? Heavy or thin?" Haney considered that thoughtfully for a moment before he answered. Then: "Sort o' medium nose, Boss, with a point on it." "And a thin face, naturally. How much did he weigh?" "Oh, he was a little feller—skinny, you know. I reckon he didn't weigh no more'n a hundred an' twenty-five or thirty." Some germ had been born in the fertile mind of Mr. Birnes; now it burst into maturity. He leaned forward in his chair and stared coldly at Haney. "Perhaps," he suggested slowly, "perhaps he had a scar on his face?" Haney returned the gaze dully for an instant, then suddenly he nodded his head. "Yes, a scar," he said. "From here?" Mr. Birnes placed one finger on the point of his chin and drew it across his right jaw. "Yes, a scar—that's it;" the prisoner acquiesced, "from his chin almost around to his ear." Mr. Birnes came to his feet, while the official police stared. The chief sat down again and crossed his fat legs. "Why, what do you know, Birnes?" he queried. "I know the man, Chief," the detective burst out confidently. "I'd gamble my head on it. I knew it! I knew it!" he told himself. Again he faced the tramp: "Haney, do you know how much the diamonds you had were worth?" "Must 'a' been three or four hundred dollars." "Something like fifty thousand dollars," Mr. Birnes informed him impressively; "and if you got fifty thousand dollars for your share the other man got a million." Haney only stared. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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