Druce picked up the note and read it furtively. He waited for the trusty to pass him again, then beckoning him, he whispered, “See if my gal isn’t outside somewhere. She just left here. Tell her to wait. She can get into the automobile which they will be sure to send for me.”
It was not affection, but cowardice, that led Druce to think of Elsie first. Since he had been locked up he had crumbled under his trouble. He was so much shaken in mind and body by the killing of Anson and by his arrest that he was actually afraid to go out of the jail alone.
After what seemed an eternity of waiting he heard footsteps in the corridor. A guard appeared and unlocked the iron door, beckoned to Druce, and he passed out.
In a little waiting-room an iron-faced jail attendant handed him his watch and knife and some money taken from him when he was locked up. A lawyer whom he knew signaled him to follow.
Another steel door stood open and Druce found himself outside the prison, breathing the free air of night. An automobile stood there. Druce saw that Elsie was already within.
“The driver has instructions,” said the lawyer. “Later you will hear further from me.”
“What to hell are they going to do for me?” growled Druce.
“No time to argue,” said the lawyer. “Here!” He pressed something in his hand. “Your game is to get away while the getting is good.” He slammed the door as Druce got in. The car turned the corner and went north.
“Where are we going?” Elsie asked.
Druce mumbled an unintelligible answer.