The sun’s rays had burst through and dispersed the early morning mists before Constance recovered from the shock, but, alas! with the shadow of a wreck enveloping her.
CHAPTER XVIII.
The next morning Sam determined upon a personal interview with the prisoner. Upon arrival at the County jail, where the prisoner had been transferred, Sam encountered Smith, who was standing on the curb talking to a policeman.
“How dy yus do, Sor?” was Smith’s greeting.
“Getting along as fast as could be expected,” he answered.
“It do be surprisin’ the number ave blackguards there do be infesting the straits ove Portland after dark these days. Houldups, an’ ‘break-o-day Johnnies’ an’ ‘shanghoin’ an’—an’ kidnappin’—an’ what bates me, all the worrk to be had at good wages the while—whill wan ave the rogues do be off his bait for a time, so he do!”
“Sure, Smith, no mistake about that,” Sam laughed. “We slipped it over him in fine shape last night. Have you seen him this morning?”
“Indade oi ’ave, Sor, and he’s the very wan that run the soule ave his plexis ferninst me hand the other day for spakin’ disrespectful ave a lady.”
“I came to see him,” Sam said, with a smile at Smith’s chivalry.
“Indade! Sure yees’ll not recognize him as the wan we tuk last night at all, fir the color ave hair do be turnin’ from black to a faded straw, so it do.”