"Merely a guess. Bertha Lund is a government witness, and McCausland has a habit of keeping his witnesses under cover, especially when they are poor and he is fighting wealth or influence. However, we have a right to know all Bertha knows. Could you find out if she is living with the Arnolds?" he said, turning to Emily.
"They are out of town, but I'll make inquiries," answered the resolute girl.
"This may be of use." Shagarach handed her the note he had rapidly written. It was unsealed and addressed to the warden of the state prison. When the young girl was settled again to John Davidson's satisfaction in the seat of his buggy, she opened the envelope and read its contents aloud:
"My Dear Sir: The bearer, Miss Emily Barlow, is assigned to important duties for the defense in the cause of Commonwealth vs. Floyd. I shall esteem it a favor if you will grant her admission to the defendant as my personal representative at all times when she may apply to you. Respectfully yours,
"MEYER SHAGARACH,
"Counsel for the Accused."
"Well, that was clever, wasn't it?" said old John Davidson, and for the rest of the ride he entertained her with anecdotes of Shagarach's most memorable victories, as well as other fascinating relations. For the marshal, among his many virtues, was a famous traveler, being one of the handful who can boast of having set foot in every state of our union. He may not have been a marvel of detective cunning, as McCausland had intimated, but Emily had forgotten all about her fatigue and was in an agreeably hopeful frame of mind when he set her down before her house door in the plain side street.
That night Robert Floyd slept in a state prison cell. The atmosphere of the place oppressed him. Everything, down to the very keys and padlocks, was more massive than at the county jail. Led along a narrow corridor by tenanted cells, whose inmates came to the bars and greeted him, or crouched in the inmost recesses, he was reminded of a menagerie of dangerous beasts. At the door of his own cell the revulsion had seized him like an epileptic fit and he had wrenched himself loose from the jailer. In an instant four vise-like hands were tightened on him and he was flung bodily into the apartment. The iron door swung to with a clang and he heard the jailer's footsteps receding.
"Coo-ee! Ducky, don't ee like ee c'adle?"
"He's a lifer, sure!"
"Don't cry, Johnnie. You'll never get out any more."
"I move a resolution of sympathy for our newly elected associate. All in favor, curse Longlegs!"