The policeman looked at me right savagely and gave my neckcloth a twist which nearly strangled me. “Tell you what,” he said sternly, “if you struggle any more, I’ll whale you over the head with my baton.”
I did not struggle anymore.
“Now,” said he, “remember that I caution you that anything you say or do will be afterward used in evidence against you.”
I thought a policy of conciliation was now best; so with what heartiness I could assume I said:
“My good fellow, you really make a mistake. Why you seize me I do not know.”
“We know,” he interrupted, with a hard laugh, “and if you say you don’t know, why then you’re a liar!”
I felt choking with anger. To be held is bad enough, but when the additional insult of calling one a liar is added, rage may surely be excused. My impulse on heari
