CHAPTER XXIII
IN THE PASSAGE
The inspector I dragged in by the collar of his coat. I slammed the door in the faces of his friends, keeping my foot against it while I shot the bolts.
"This won't do! I'm not going to stand any more of your nonsense! You let my men in!"
There was a flaming gas-bracket in the passage. By its flare I eyed the inspector.
"You be so good as to understand, Mr. Symonds, that I'm going to have no more of your nonsense." He put his hand up to his mouth—a whistle between his fingers. Gripping his wrist, I pinned him by the throat against the wall. "If you are not careful, you'll get hurt."
He gasped out, between his clenched teeth, "I'll make you pay for this! You let my men in!"
"I'll not let your men in—until you and I have had an explanation."
The lady interposed. "Don't hurt him!"
"I'll not hurt him—unless he compels me.
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