"One thing is proven, sir," the judge went on; "the man who
murdered that poor boy is in our midst; that point can no longer
be disputed. Now, where are their fine-spun theories as to how
he crossed to the Arkansas coast? What does their mass of
speculation and conjecture amount to in the face of this?" He
breathed deep. "My God, sir, the murderer may be the very next
man you pass the time of day with!" Mr. Saul shivered
uncomfortably. "And the case in the hands of that pin-headed
fool, Betts!" The judge laughed derisively as he bowed himself
out. He left it with Mr. Saul to disseminate the news.
The judge strutted home with his hat cocked over one eye, and his
chest expanded to such limits that it menaced all his waistcoat
buttons. Perhaps he was under observation. Ah, let the
cutthroats look their full at him!

He established himself in his office. He had scarcely done so
when Mr. Betts knocked at the door. The sheriff came direct from
Mr. Saul and arrived out of breath, but the letter was not
mentioned by the judge. He spoke of the crops, the chance of
rain, and the intricacies of county politics. The sheriff
withdrew mystified, wondering why it was he had not felt at
liberty to broach the subject which was uppermost in his mind.
His place was taken by Mr. Pegloe, and on the heels of the
tavern-keeper came Mr. Bowen. Judge Price received them with
condescension, but back of the condescension was an air of
reserve that did not invite questions. The judge discussed the
extension of the national roads with Mr. Pegloe, and the religion
of the Persian fire-worshipers with Mr. Bowen; he permitted never
a pause and they retired as the sheriff had done without sight of
the letter.