"Four convictions; one,
robbery with violence."
Jim Poland nodded sullenly.
"You were arrested at the corner of Pekin Street about midnight.
What were you doing there?"
"Taking a walk."
"I'll say it again," rapped Kerry, fixing his fierce eyes upon
the man's face. "What were you doing there?"
"I've told you."
"And I tell you you're a liar. Where did you leave the man
Cohen?"
Poland blinked his small eyes, cleared his throat, and looked
down at the floor uneasily. Then:
"Who's Cohen?" he grunted.
"You mean, who was Cohen?" cried Kerry.
The shot went home. The man clenched his fists and looked about
the room from face to face.
"You don't tell me------" he began huskily.
"I've told you," said Kerry. "He's on the slab. Spit out the
truth; it'll be good for your health."
The man hesitated, then looked up, his eyes half closed and a
cunning expression upon his face.
"Make out your own case," he said. "You've got nothing against
me."
Kerry snapped his teeth together viciously.
"I've told you what happened to your pal," he warned. "If you're
a wise man you'll come in on our side, before the same thing
happens to you."
"I don't know what you're talking about," growled Poland.
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