Gordon glanced in the direction indicated and observed the Chief of Police, note book in hand, watching every move of the District Attorney.
“Who is he?” he asked, nodding toward the prisoner.
“Why the larrup says his name is Winter—and don’t he look innocent? Well, he’s really Red Farrell, a crook we’ve been after for years. But there’s nothin’ much gets by us, I guess.—Eh?”
But Gordon was studying the prisoner again and did not respond.
Winter? Where had he heard that name? Why, of course, Winter was the married name of his old nurse, who had been in his father’s family for thirty years. But who was this man?
“Mr. Duncan——”
Gordon turned as he heard the whisper behind him and found himself face to face with the very woman of whom he had been thinking.
“Why, Margaret, what are you doing here?”
“O, Mr. Duncan—it’s him.”