"Have a talk with Singa Phut? Why sure, if it will do you any good," said the headquarters man when the colonel had made known his desire. "I was going to the jail on another matter, anyhow, and I might as well kill two birds as one. They'll let you see him if I'm with you. Otherwise you'd have to get an order from the prosecutor's office. Come along."
It was raining when they reached the jail, and the colonel, as he heard the patter of drops, thought of the night he had first come to Colchester.
"There ought to be good fishing after this rain," said the colonel, with a regretful sigh as he thought of his rods and flies.
"Fishin'!" exclaimed Donovan. "Say, that's something I haven't done since I was a kid! I used to like it, though. Well, here we are! Looks like a party. What d'you s'pose the warden's all lit up for?"
Certainly the gloomy jail was more brightly lighted than usual at night, for the prisoners were locked in their cells and all illumination, save the keepers' lights, put out at nine o'clock.
"We want to see that Dago, you know—Singa Phut," said Donovan, as he nodded to the deputy warden who answered their ring at the steel side door.
"Humph! Little too late," was the answer.
"Too late! What d'you mean? He's gone?"
"That's it."
"On bail? No, it couldn't be with a murder charge!" expostulated
Donovan. "He can't be out! You're kiddin'!"