Morehead's smile was not a pleasant one.
"Steen," he went on severely, "you'll let him off for less. Oh, yes, yes you will; I know all about you, one hour won't pass before you'll be sending a man upstairs to let Wilkinson out. Come, call it a hundred and fifty thousand.... No? Then two ... two and a half——"
"Not on your life!" returned Steen, raising a deprecating hand.
Colonel Morehead fixed his hypnotic eye upon the other, drew himself up to his full height, thrust his hand into his breast-pocket, pulled out a paper, and held it under the nose of Steen.
"Look at that, Bill," he insisted, "and see whether my prophecy comes true."
The deputy warden opened the paper, glanced at it and grinned.
"Quit your kiddin', Counsellor! Why didn't you say all along that you'd given bail?"
"You can send it to your friend Murgatroyd," concluded Morehead, "and make sure it's O. K. I'll go up to Wilkinson."
Colonel Morehead, on leaving the warden, was suddenly conscious of a feeling of disgust. With an effort, however, he shook it off, and there was a semblance, at least, of a smile on his face when he appeared, as has been said, before Wilkinson and his daughter in the counsel room.