"Meanwhile," observed the lawyer, "I'll prepare something for his signature, when we find him, that will have no loopholes in it."
Connorton and Paulson had no difficulty in securing permission to talk with Hartley, and they approached with considerable confidence the cell in which he was detained. It had occurred to them, upon reflection, that they were now in a most advantageous position in the matter of their business relations with the inventor. He was friendless in a strange city. He was believed to be of unsound mind, and his actions had been erratic enough to give color to that belief. He could hardly hope to secure his release without their help, and if so, they could impose their own terms before extending that help.
To their surprise, they found him quite cheerful and apparently indifferent or blind to the seriousness of his predicament.
"Hullo, Connorton!" he cried, when he saw them approaching. "Any other proposition to make now?"
"Why, no, certainly not," replied Connorton. "We came to see about you."
"Awfully good of you," laughed Hartley. "How you do love me, Connorton!"
Connorton's face reddened, but he ignored the thrust. "You've got yourself in a nice fix, Hartley," he remarked.
"Oh, it's of no consequence," exclaimed Paulson.
"Not to me," asserted Hartley. "It may be to you, of course."