he shrugged himself free of the distasteful sensation. "Buck up, Burbeck," he commanded himself, "or you are done for." Once more he grabbed the telephone, and this time more determinedly, for in the midst of his misery one really first-class inspiration had come to him: this was to communicate with the county jail. The minister was really much more likely to have friends in the county jail than in the St. Albans; and it was a safe wager that he went there more frequently. Rollie knew the jailer well.
"Hello—Sam," he called. "This is Rollie. Has Doctor Hampstead been there this morning?"
"Yeh!"
"There now?"
"Nope."
"Know where he went?"
Evidently Sam turned to some one else in the room for information. Rollie heard a voice answering him and caught the words "San Francisco" and "Red Lizard."
"Did you get that?" called Sam into the 'phone. "He's gone to San Francisco."
"Yes,—but what's that got to do with the Red Lizard?"
"He came down to see the Red Lizard."
"The Red Lizard!" Rollie could not restrain a gasp, and then wondered if gasps are transmitted over the telephone—but went on to ask: "Is the Red Lizard in?"
"Yeh!"
"What for?"
Rollie was clinging to the telephone now like a drowning man to a rope's end.
"He got in some kind of a row with a service elevator man at the St. Albans last night and landed on him with the brass knucks. This morning the judge gave him three months in the county."
