I wired to the telegraph operator at Keene to know if my messages had been delivered to District Attorney Lane. I showed Stebbins the answer:—
“Both messages were delivered, personally, to F. F. Lane.”
Stebbins was absolutely worried. He had serious doubts that he’d made a smart move in arresting me. Finally, he opened up, with much confusion of speech, a discussion with Judge Cushion.
“What ’u’d ye advise me tew dew, jedge?” he asked anxiously. I secretly enjoyed his discomfiture.
“Well,” said Cushion, “you can hold Mr. White for twenty-four hours, but let me tell you, if District Attorney Lane doesn’t want him, you’ll be in a pretty pickle. It will be a clean case of lawsuit, and you’ll be the defendant without a leg to hobble on. In view of Mr. White’s statement, I can’t see any other outcome. It seems that you’ve arrested him without proper authority.”
“B’ gummany Christmus!” ejaculated the sheriff, wiping his perspiring face with a much-soiled handkerchief. “I hev cut a mus’ melon, an’ no mistake! What’ll I dew, jedge, anyhow? Ef ye wuz in my place, what ’u’d ye dew?”
“I prefer not to advise you, sheriff, but if, as you say, I had gotten myself in your predicament, I’d confess I’d made a big mistake an’ tell the prisoner to go his way in peace, as quick as he wanted to.”
Sheriff Stebbins jumped at this solution of his troubles, like a startled rabbit to cover. I was set free, but I didn’t leave until I had made the sheriff very contrite and fully understand that he had seriously interfered with my lawful rights. Bidding farewell to Judge Cushion, I was about to go, when Stebbins said I’d not be able to get out of Charlestown that night, the last train having gone.
“But I’ll drive ye to Bellows Falls,” he volunteered anxiously, “an’ thet’ll help ye ’long a lot.”
I was truly glad to accept the offer. After a tedious journey, I was at last on board a train en route to the metropolis.