Colonel Morehead smiled enigmatically.
"Assistant District Attorney J. Newton Leech is the man. My information is direct—direct from the inside."
Wilkinson literally dragged them across the street.
"Come on," he said, "we'll go in and see Assistant District Attorney Leech right away."
Morehead interposed, and demanded:
"What for?"
"Just to—er—throw a sop to Cerberus," said Wilkinson. "Come, come along with me."
Wilkinson's cringing manner of a little while before had left him. His shoulders once more were straight, his Van Dyke belligerent. He had assumed his position as a leader of men.
"Both you and Leslie come along with me," he repeated. "I'm going to scratch Leech's back, and maybe, one of these days, he'll scratch mine."
They were ushered forthwith into the Assistant District Attorney's outer office. His private door was open, and they could hear his even voice within. His tones were mingled, however, with those of a woman—a pleading, tearful woman, judging from her voice. Wilkinson's card was sent in to Leech; and the instant that the Assistant District Attorney saw it, his straight lips widened into a pleasant smile. He came out to greet the three almost instantly, singled out Morehead and held out his hand.