Jim laughed.
“Where did ye expect them to be? Chief Palmer was at Royce Pederstone’s reception. Howden––well, it seems Howden had a date on with one of the Kenora waitresses. Ryans, the jailer, says everything was quiet. He happened to open an unused cell, where he kept his brooms and things, and, when he was inside somebody 213 slammed the door on him and locked him in. A trump-up from beginning to ending, and too thin to keep a draught out even. Phil, it sure would make one’s stomach turn; politics, justice, protection, the whole thing would seem to be a farce from start to finish, and we are parties to it ourselves, aiding and abetting it; too weak or else too lazy to issue even a mild protest.”
“And what is being done now? Who put you on to it?”
“Oh,––that youngster Smiler, as usual. He knows everything that goes on. The wee deevil came up to Pederstone’s. They wouldn’t let him in, but he shot through the door and made for me. Brenchfield was standing by and saw the dumb show, and understood it quicker than I did, for he was off like a greyhound, and so was Palmer.
“Before I got down here, he had his own pursuit gang working and they were away, hot-foot, after the runaways,––perhaps.”
“Well,––I guess that ends it,” lamented Phil.
“I guess it just does,” agreed Jim. “Palmer leading the chase, and Brenchfield at his ear telling him how to do it before he set out. Gee, man!––I wish we had been in it, though. There would have been hell apopping for somebody, for I’m just in the mood.”
“But didn’t Brenchfield go, too?”
“Not so far as I know! He was here, got them started after much pow-powing with Palmer; then someone came for him and he went off again in a hurry. One of the gang, no doubt! Damn them!”
“Oh, oh, oh,––Jim Langford!” interrupted a well-known, melodious voice at Jim’s elbow.