"Well, perhaps you're right. Pedro never has his supper before he comes here, as I am always expecting him to get a good meal before he gets home."
"One of your special enemies, I suppose."
"Sure."
"Has he eaten any yet?"
"Not a d—n one, though I expect he'll have a meal before long."
"To-night?"
"Oh, no," and the lawyer chuckled as he threw down a card. "The meal's in cold storage to-night as far as I know. But, then, one can never tell."
"Cold storage!" and Whittles' eyes opened wide as he paused in his play.
"Yes, in cold storage. Or, to be more exact, in jail. That's where the special meal is to-night."
"In jail! Why, man, what do you mean? Who's in jail?"