Nick fairly writhed in that iron clutch, and his face had assumed a sickly sallow color; while his eyes reminded Hugh of those of a hunted wild animal at bay, fear and defiance struggling for the mastery.
"Stand there, you cub!" snarled the police officer, as he gave Nick a whirl into the room, closing the door at the same time, and planting his six-foot-five figure against it, to prevent such a thing as escape.
It was quite a tableau.

Hugh believed he would never forget it as long as he lived.

But Thad, it appeared, was the first to speak.
"Hugh, this skunk has gone and beat you after all!" he cried, pointing a scornful finger at the glowering Nick, who was eyeing Hugh hungrily, as if trying to decide whether or not the other would tell Chief Wambold to lock him up as a thief.

"I chanced to see him pull something out that he had been hiding under his coat, and recognized your nickel-mounted skates.

So I beckoned to Chief Wambold, and told him about it; he made Nick come back here to face you, and confess to the theft." Nick growled something half under his breath, that sounded like: "Didn't steal 'em, I tell you; I bought the skates fair and square from Hugh here.