"Glad to see you, inspector--try that one in front of the desk, you'll find it comfortable." Carruthers, trying to catch Jimmie Dale's eye for some sort of a cue, and, failing, sat down.

Inspector Clayton stared at Jimmie Dale.
"Oh, it's YOU, eh ?" His eyes roved around the room, fastened for an instant on some of Jimmie Dale's work on an easel, came back finally to Jimmie Dale--and he plumped himself down in the chair indicated.
"Thought you was more'n a cub reporter," he remarked, with a grin.
"You were too slick with your pencil.

Pretty fine studio you got here.
Carruthers says you're going to draw me." Jimmie Dale smiled--not pleasantly--and leaned suddenly over the desk.
"Yes," he said slowly, a grim intonation in his voice, "going to draw you--TRUE TO LIFE." With an exclamation, Clayton slued around in his chair, half rose, and his shifty eyes, small and cunning, bored into Jimmie Dale's face.
"What d'ye mean by that ?" he snapped out "Just exactly what I say," replied Jimmie Dale curtly.

"No more, no less.

But first, not to be too abrupt, I want to join with the newspapers in congratulating you on the remarkable--shall I call it celerity, or acumen ?--with which you solved the mystery of Metzer's death, and placed the murderer behind the bars.