"Is this your prisoner, officer?"
"Shure, that's him, right enough," answered Tom.
"Discharged," said the magistrate.
Mr. Potter shook hands with his honor, who smiled good-humoredly and winked at McAllister.
"Now, Welch, try and behave yourself. I'll let you off this time, but if it happens again I won't answer for the consequences. Go home."
Mr. Potter whispered something to the baffled officers, who grinned sheepishly, and then, seizing McAllister's arm, led our astonished friend out of the court-room.
As they whirled uptown in the closed automobile which had been waiting for them around the corner, Mr. Potter explained that after sending the letter he had felt far from satisfied, and had bethought him of calling up Mrs. Winthrop on the telephone. Her polite surprise at the lawyer's inquiries had fully convinced him of his error, and after evading her questions with his usual caution, he had taken immediate steps for his client's release—steps which, by reason of the lateness of the hour, he could not communicate to the unhappy McAllister.
"What has become of the fugitive Welch," he ended, "remains a mystery. The police cannot imagine where he has hidden himself."
"I wonder," said McAllister dreamily.