The horse was trotting at the top of his speed. We whirled round a corner, the wheels ground against the curb and we leaped out. A negro with his arms full of newspapers stood on the pavement.
"Throw them in the gutter!" the Senator commanded, and the negro obeyed. Up the stairway we rushed, into a corridor. The Senator tried a door. It would not open.
"He has locked himself in. Here, we'll break it down with this."
We gathered up a heavy bench, battered the door down and rushed into the room. The place was vacant. We looked at each other. A gust of wind stirred the papers lying about; a "bunch of copy" fluttered on the editor's desk.
"We'll find him."
We went into the business office. No one was there. We stepped out into the street, and there we were arrested on a peace warrant sworn out by Petticord.
"We must respect the law," the Senator remarked as we walked off with the constable. "I mean the active presence of the law," he added, evidently recalling the fact that we had broken down a door. "We'll go over here and give bond, but we'll get him. Yes, Sir, we'll get him as sure as you are born."
Bonds were prepared, accepted, and we were released. The Justice followed us out. "Giles," said he, "I am awfully sorry that you didn't have a chance to kill him. Never was a greater outrage perpetrated in this community."
"Yes, but I'll get him, Perry," the Senator replied.
"Get him? Of course! Mr. Belford, this makes you a permanent resident of our city, Sir. You can't afford to go away now, even if you have thought of such a thing. Giles, he swore out the warrant and got on a train at once, and I reckon his wife will run his paper. Is Estell at home?"