"Before I answer I think I'll have a go at him myself."
He pressed a buzzer, and ordered a clerk to fill out the necessary requisition. When it had been signed in duplicate, he sent Swacker with it to Ben Hanlon.
"Do ask him about those silk shirts," suggested Vance. "And find out, if you can, if he considers a white waistcoat de rigueur with a dinner-jacket."
"This office isn't a male millinery shop," snapped Markham.
"But, Markham dear, you won't learn anything else from this Petronius."
Ten minutes later a Deputy Sheriff from the Tombs entered with his handcuffed prisoner.
Skeel's appearance that morning belied his sobriquet of Dude. He was haggard and pale: his ordeal of the previous night had left its imprint upon him. He was unshaven; his hair was uncombed; the ends of his moustache drooped; and his cravat was awry. But despite his bedraggled condition, his manner was jaunty and contemptuous. He gave Heath a defiant leer, and faced the District Attorney with swaggering indifference.
To Markham's questions he doggedly repeated the same story he had told Heath. He clung tenaciously to every detail of it with the ready accuracy of a man who had painstakingly memorized a lesson and was thoroughly familiar with it. Markham coaxed, threatened, bullied. All hint of his usual affability was gone: he was like an inexorable dynamic machine. But Skeel, whose nerves seemed to be made of iron, withstood the vicious fire of his cross-questioning without wincing; and, I confess, his resistance
