Conklin paused before the first of three doors on the right and pushed it open.
"I guess this will do, John!" he said.
North stepped quickly in and glanced about him.

The room held an iron bedstead, a wooden chair and, by the window which overlooked the jail yard and an alley beyond, a wash-stand with a tin basin and pitcher.
"Say, ain't you going to see a lawyer ?" asked the sheriff.

"He may be able to get you out of this, you can't tell--" "Can you send a message to young Watt Harbison for me ?" interrupted North.
"Certainly, but you don't call him much of a lawyer, do you?
I tell you, John, you want a _good_ lawyer; what's the matter with Marsh Langham ?" "Watt will do for the present.

He can tell me the one or two things I need to know now," rejoined North indifferently.
"All right, I'll send for him then." The sheriff quitted the room, closing and locking the door after him.
North heard his footsteps die out in the long passage.

At last he was alone! He threw himself down on the cot for manhood seemed to forsake him.
"My God,--Elizabeth--" he groaned and buried his face in his hands.
The law had lifted a sinister finger and leveled it at him..