He did not care to ride, for it was not so very many blocks to the hotel, and Murk wanted time to formulate in his mind the report he intended to make to his employer.
Prale was waiting for him, and Murk told his story in detail and without embellishment.
"So Kate Gilbert had you freed, did she?" Prale said. "And she told the others that she would quit them if they used any more violence? Murk, old boy, when our foes begin fighting in their own camp it is time for us to begin to hope. A house divided against itself cannot stand, as you probably have heard."
"She certainly panned the man who wore the handkerchief over his face," Murk said. "I think I'd know him again, boss. He talked a good deal, remember, and he got careless toward the last and used his regular voice. And I watched his hands—boob didn't have sense enough to wear gloves. Anybody but a boob would know that a hand can be recognized as easy as a face."
"Let us hope that they make a lot of mistakes like that, Murk," Prale replied. "I'll be glad if we ever solve this confounded mystery. It's getting on my nerves."
They remained up until one o'clock in the morning, but Jim Farland neither visited the hotel again nor called them up, and so they went to bed.
They did not rise early, but had breakfast in the suite and took their time about eating it. After that, they waited for Farland to arrive or telephone and give orders and tell news. Farland did not come, but Attorney Coadley did.
Murk admitted him, and the distinguished criminal lawyer sat in the window beside Prale, a grave expression on his face, his manner that of a disconcerted man.
"I gather you do not bring good news, judging from your countenance," Prale said.
"At least, I have not come to say that the case against you is any stronger," Coadley replied. "I'd like to speak to you alone, Mr. Prale."