"That seems to let you out, Case," said the sheriff sententiously, but the bookkeeper never raised his head.
"Is there anything else I can say—or do?" asked Willett, holding his natty forage-cap at the side of his head. "It should be done now, for—I am to leave here—to-night."
It was then Case's turn. In an instant he was on his feet.
"Going?" he demanded, a strange, hungry look in his eyes. "I'm not yet free, and I've got to speak with you."
"There is no need," said Willett gravely. "I know."
"You mean?—you heard——?"
"My letters have told me—everything," was the quiet answer.
"And you are going?"
"Back to Portland—and to——"
With that he would have turned, but Case sprang forward. There was perceptible start among the lookers-on. It might mean another attempt. The sheriff seized him, but Case, with feverish strength, shook himself loose, and Willett turned back, faced him, and waited for him to speak. It was a moment before Case could find breath, then came the words: