The man's name was Short, and, oddly enough, he stood over six feet in his stockings. He had a gimlet-eye and a hawklike face, and was professionally brusk and brutally frank. But he had already heard of Clip's arrest, and, as everybody in town knew Motor Matt—who had been a good deal in the public eye during the preceding weeks—the lawyer listened to the young motorist with attention.
"How much money have you got to spend on this, King?" queried the lawyer.
"I've got $900," said Matt, "but I'll need some of that for other expenses."
"What expenses?"
"I'll explain, Mr. Short, when you tell me whether or not you'll take the case."
"The long and short of it is this: If we can't break down Clipperton's stubbornness, and induce him to tell what he knows, he's a gone gosling. If I get him clear I want $500; if I lose—which seems a foregone conclusion—$250 will settle the bill."
"Here's a hundred on account," said Matt, and Short gave him a receipt and pocketed the money.
"Now, about the clues you have," said Short.
Matt showed the note received at the boarding-house that morning. The lawyer examined it, puckered up his brows, and drummed on the desk with his fingers.
"Not worth the paper it's written on," said he. "That's my opinion, but it seems to be the only clue we have, so you'd better follow it. I'll go over and talk with Clipperton. Probably we'll waive examination. He'll be held to the circuit court, now in session, and the case will no doubt be taken right up. Are you prepared to furnish bail and get Clipperton out for a few days? I wouldn't advise it. He might run."