"Well, Donovan," said the county physician, "your friend saved you the trouble of convicting him."
"Yep. But I'd a had him all right. I'd a sent him to the chair without any trouble. But what ailed him, Doc?"
"I can't say yet. Looks like a case of heart disease. I'll hold an autopsy in the morning. He's dead all right."
"I thought maybe some of the other prisoners might have got in and croaked him," commented the headquarters detective. "Riley was saying some one let out a yell."
"That was Schmidt—fellow that killed his wife," interposed the deputy warden. "He's in the cell next to where the Dago was. Schmidt said he heard the foreigner breathing awful funny. It was his last breath all right. He was dead when I got in, Doc."
"Yes, they go quick that way."
"Are you sure it was heart disease, Dr. Warren?" asked the colonel.
"No, not at all. I just mentioned that as most probable. He didn't look strong. I can't tell for a certainty until to-morrow."
"Pardon me, Dr. Warren, for presuming on what is particularly your own ground, but did you look to see if any of the cigarettes were left in his cell?"
"I didn't notice. If you want to take a look come on back. And I don't in the least mind any suggestions from you, Colonel. I'm too much interested in your work. In fact, I'd be glad to have you help in this investigation if you think there's anything crooked."