"There, there," interrupted the chief. "As you say, there are courts, of course, gaols, too; but our accommodations for criminals are not suitable for gentlemen."
"It is not for me to choose my accommodation, sir. I am here to pay the penalty of my crime. I have come to be arrested."
"Arrested?" repeated the chief, staring at Leighton. "Are you not my friend? Are you not the friend of all of us that count?"
"But—but——" stammered Leighton.
"Yes, sir," repeated the chief, "my friend."
"What do you mean?" cried Leighton. "Do you mean you will leave my punishment to my conscience—to my God?"
The chief looked at him quizzically.
"Your punishment? Why, certainly. To your God, if you like. But let us get down to business. You are nervous. Quite natural. When I was an irresponsible student, I killed a servant for waking me on the morning after a spree. I remember I was nervous for weeks. Now sit still. Calm yourself. Let me think for you. In fact, while we've been chatting, I have thought for you."
The chief leaned back in his chair and placed his finger-tips together.
"Listen. When it becomes necessary, I shall block all roads—all exits from the city—by telegraph. There is one highway—the road into the interior—without telegraph as yet. We should never think of blocking that.