"The Police are swift and merciless," Rouletta persisted, fearfully.
"They hate the Front Street crowd; they'd like to make an example."
"Go in your li'l bed an' sleep," he told her, gently. "Dis t'ing is comin' out all right. 'Poleon fix it, sure; he's dandy fixer."
For some time after the door had closed upon Rouletta the big fellow stood with bent head, staring at the snow beneath his feet. The cheer, the sympathy, had left his face; the smile had vanished from his lips; his features were set and stony. With an effort he shook himself, then, murmured:
"Poor li'l bird! Wal, I s'pose now I got to bus' dat jail!"
CHAPTER XXIV
Although 'Poleon had spoken with confidence, he found, upon arriving at Police Headquarters, that the situation was by no means as simple as it had appeared, and that something more than a mere word regarding Phillips' character would be required to offset the very definite accusation against him. Courteau, he learned, had pressed his charge with vigor, and although the two McCaskeys had maintained their outward show of reluctance at being dragged into the affair, they had, nevertheless, substantiated his statements with a thoroughness and a detail that hinted more than a little at vindictiveness. Pierce, of course, had denied his guilt, but his total inability to explain how the gold-dust in dispute came to be concealed in the cashier's cage, to which no one but he had access, had left the Police no alternative except to hold him. By the time 'Poleon arrived Pierce had been locked up for the night.
Drawing Rock aside, Doret put in an earnest plea for his young friend.
The lieutenant answered him with some impatience:
"I admit it looks fishy, but what is there to do? The colonel likes
Pierce, as we all do, but—he had no choice."
"It's dirty frame-up."
"I imagine he believes so. And yet—how the deuce did that sack get where it was? I was standing alongside the McCaskeys when Courteau went up to pay his check, and I'm sure they had no part in it."