"Gi' me the gun," repeated Blake.
"Jim, I hate to see you act this way," but as Binhart spoke he slowly drew the revolver from its flapped pocket. Blake's revolver barrel was touching the white shirt-front as the movement was made. It remained there until he had possession of Binhart's gun. Then he backed away, putting his own revolver back in his pocket.
"Now, get your clothes on," commanded Blake.
"What for?" temporized Binhart.
"You 're coming with me!"
"You can't do it, Jim," persisted the other. "You couldn't get me down to the water-front, in this town. They 'd get you before you were two hundred yards away from that door."
"I 'll risk it," announced the detective.
"And I 'd fight you myself, every move. This ain't Manhattan Borough, you know, Jim; you can't kidnap a white man. I 'd have you in irons for abduction the first ship we struck. And at the first port of call I 'd have
