CHAPTER XXIV
THE JUDGE INTERFERES
The gloomy weather was over at last. Puddles and pools were fast drying up in the warmth of pleasant sunshine, while a balmy breeze had replaced the blustery wind.
“Say, Bob Somers,” remarked Victor Collins, as all were on their way to the police station next morning, “didn’t I hear you ’phoning to some one last night?”
“Sure thing, Vic.”
“Who was it?”
“You may know before the morning is over.”
“Oh, come now, Somers, tell me.”
“No; not a word, Vic,” answered Bob, smilingly.
The large, square room in the police station looked very differently from the way it had on the afternoon before. Already it contained a large number of people, and in the buzz of conversation, the light footfalls, and the appearance of a solemn magistrate’s clerk poring over a great ledger, there was something which filled those whose nerves were not of the strongest with a curious feeling of restraint.
As each new arrival entered the room tongues were stilled for the instant, for the magistrate was due to arrive.