Sheriff Kowen left the restaurant and walked toward the county jail, where he maintained his office. He passed countless persons he knew, both men and women, and saw many smiles that possessed a quality the sheriff did not relish. But he refused to take a taxicab—he would show the public that he was not in hiding!
"If I ever meet that Blanchard woman again" the sheriff told himself; and just then he saw her.
She was on the walk a few feet ahead of him, going slowly toward a department store. Sheriff Kowen hurried up to her, touched her on the arm.
"I want to talk to you!" he said gruffly.
"Oh, good morning, sheriff!" she said, and smiled.
The sheriff was disconcerted for an instant, but composure returned to him quickly.
"We are only a block from the jail, and my office," he said. "I want to talk to you there. Shall we walk, or shall I call a cab and charge it to the county?"
There was a certain meaning to the last sentence, but she did not seem to realize it.
"I should be charmed to talk to you," she said, "but I have some shopping to do this morning."
"Your shopping will have to wait, young woman. This is a serious business."
"Why, what can you mean?" she asked.
"Either you walk along with me to my office, or you go as a prisoner!"
"Are you insane? Arrest me?"
"In a minute!" said Sheriff Kowen.
"I—I don't understand this—but I'll go along with you," said Mamie Blanchard.
"I thought you would," the sheriff returned.
