Mr. Sutton’s fury knew no bounds when he got the message from Herz that the prisoners had escaped. It was with difficulty that he composed himself sufficiently to ask after the welfare of the two gentlemen who had undertaken the job of landing the negroes safely in jail.
“The Count de Lestis has sprained his ankle and his face is all smeared with blood,—I could not tell how great were his injuries,” lied the unblushing one over the telephone. “I spent hours getting him from under the car. Fortunately the mud was soft and deep and he is not seriously injured.”
“Just where was the accident?”
“At that sharp curve in the road about two miles this side of the court-house,—just beyond the bridge.”
“Umhum! Do you need any assistance?”
“No, I thank you. I’ll get some mules to right the car. I think I am mechanic enough to repair the engine.”
“How about a doctor for your friend? Dr. Wright is still with the Carters.”
“Oh—er—ah—I think he can get along very well without calling in a physician. I have bandaged his ankle.”
“You did a good deal before you gave warning as to the escape of the prisoners.”