The listeners were silent. No one had ever heard such a speech from the huge owner of the dance-hall. The sheriff lighted a cigar before he said:
"That's all right, Devlin. We all understand your prejudices, but I'm afraid they haven't much weight with legal minds, like Mr. Felder's here, for instance."
"Excuse me," said Felder. "I fear my prejudices are with Devlin. Good night," he added, moving up the street.
"Where are you bound?" asked the other casually.
"To the jail," answered the lawyer, "to see a client—I hope."
The sheriff emitted a low whistle. "I hope there'll be enough sane men left to get a jury!" he said.
CHAPTER XXXVI THE HAND AT THE DOOR
At the sound of steps in the jail corridor and the harsh grating of the key in the lock, Harry rose hastily from the iron cot whereon he had been sitting and took a step forward.