"And here's the match, young feller," the sheriff continued, as he held it forth. It was one of the regulations formulated by himself that the inmates of the jail should not be allowed possession of matches.
Of that regulation, Jack was already aware, and to secure its evasion, he now acted. As the sheriff turned away, in pursuance of his principle of not encouraging familiarity on the part of a prisoner, Jack tossed the match to the floor, where it lay invisible in the light which shone in from the other room. Then he addressed the sheriff, with becoming humility.
"I'm sorry, Sheriff, but the match went out."
Dan McGrew, in the sheriff's place, would have demanded the return of that match. Instead, the official turned back promptly, and gave another, with which the prisoner succeeded in lighting his cigar. The sheriff, seated at his table, could not see the captive, who stooped and picked up from the floor the first match, and put it away in his pocket with extraordinary care.
Thereafter, still careful to escape observation by the sheriff, Jack got out a stub of pencil which he had been allowed to retain. He secured a small fragment of paper from the untidy litter on the floor of the cell. Then, he hastily scribbled a brief note. This was rolled up into a tiny cylinder with the writing on the inner side. By liberal moistening with his tongue he managed to make the roll retain its shape. Having accomplished all he could for the time being, the prisoner, with the cylinder in his pocket, awaited the coming of Nell.
The wife's advent was not long delayed. Within the hour, the girl appeared before the sheriff, softly appealing in voice, more softly appealing in the gaze of her misty eyes. The official strove to frown, but only succeeded in smirking shamefacedly.
"I suppose it can't do any harm to let you chin a little," he said grudgingly. "But remember now," he added, shaking a warning finger at the visitor, "no whispering, an' keep your hands in plain sight all the time. An' I'll have my eyes on you, you bet!"
With a murmur of thanks, Nell went forward to the grating, where she stood with her hands duly exposed against the metal bars. Husband and wife exchanged greetings as best they could, thus forced to speak aloud so that the sheriff could hear every word. Yet, without anything said to warrant it, Nell knew instantly that her husband's mood had changed. There was a light in his eyes, a smile on his lips. And, too, he nodded almost imperceptibly, very mysteriously. Nell felt her own spirits rise in response. They spoke of sending to Malamute for a lawyer. They spoke of securing proof against the actual murderer—at which the sheriff smiled.
But the sheriff, though he listened so intently, did not watch with equal closeness. He glanced over some of the papers lying before him.
It was Jack who watched carefully, for much was now at stake. As he saw the sheriff's gaze averted, he parted his lips, and with his tongue pushed forward the tiny cylinder of paper, which on the instant of Nell's arrival, he had placed in his mouth.