Sylvia peeped in.
Elisha, too intent on the music to hear her step, was sitting before the loud speaker, smoking.
"I've come to see Mr. Heath," she shouted above the wails of a crooning orchestra.
"You can't. 'Tain't allowed."
"Nonsense! Prisoners are always permitted to see visitors. Where is he?"
"I ain't sure as I'd oughter let you see him," hesitated Elisha.
"I'll take the responsibility."
"Wal—mebbe on second thought, 'twill do no harm," he drawled. "He's round on the back porch. I'd come with you warn't I waitin' for the news flashes."
"That's all right. I can find him."
"Say, who you got with you?" called the sheriff over his shoulder.