It was a day of tremendous excitement for the entire street. Long after the patrol wagon had driven away, the crowd remained. In fact, until seven o'clock that evening groups collected about the door of the junk shop, where a policeman stood guard, asking all manner of questions, advancing all manner of opinions.
“Do you think they'll get him?” asked Ryer of the policeman. A dozen necks craned forward eagerly.
“Hoh, we'll get him all right, easy enough,” answered the other, with a grand air.
“What? What's that? What did he say?” asked the people on the outskirts of the group. Those in front passed the answer back.
“He says they'll get him all right, easy enough.”
The group looked at the policeman admiringly.
“He's skipped to San Jose.”
Where the rumor started, and how, no one knew. But every one seemed persuaded that Zerkow had gone to San Jose.
“But what did he kill her for? Was he drunk?”
“No, he was crazy, I tell you—crazy in the head. Thought she was hiding some money from him.”