“Well, how do you find him?” the county official asked in gruff good humor. He at least seemed not at all awed by the solemnity of the place.
“Does he have to go to Canada?” Roy asked. “Does he have to go soon?”
“Yes, siree. Been telling you about his brother?”
“Is it true?” Roy asked.
“Na-a-h! He either hasn’t come to his senses yet or he’s bluffing. He’s going back to Quebec to a dope-house or else to the gallows. How’d you like to go to the gallows, hey?” he added as a pleasantry.
“You’re–you’re sure he’s the one?” Roy asked, in pitiful despair.
“Well now what do you think? You saw the pictures, huh? He’s the chap, says you. Been trying to string you, huh? He rang that brother in on me yesterday.”
“He wants the locket you took from him,” said Roy.
“Oh, does he? Well, wouldn’t that be nice?”
“If it helps him to get better and helps him–maybe–to sleep–”