Matt looked out. McKibben, in the red roadster, had pulled to a stop in front of Mrs. Spooner's gate. Leffingwell was in the rumble-seat.
The sheriff looked up and saw Matt, then waved his hand for him to come down.
"There's something up, Chub," said Matt. "Let's go down and see what it is."
The two boys hurried down-stairs and out of the house.
"What is it, Mr. McKibben?" asked Matt.
The sheriff reached into his pocket and drew out a yellow slip.
"It's a telegram, Matt," said he. "Just came—and not more than half an hour after I had posted that letter to the warden of the government prison at Leavenworth."
Matt unfolded the slip, hoping against hope that it contained good news of some sort. But he was far afield, for the news was anything but good.
"Dangerfield committed suicide in his cell here last night. Advise name of next of kin, if you know it."
Matt's hands closed convulsively on the yellow sheet. Another hope gone—and there were not many for Clip to lose!