“Mr. Mitchell, you’re a wonder!” declared Joey in a fine heat of admiration.  As the lawyer unfolded his plan the partner-clerk, as a devotee of cunning, found himself convicted of comparative unworth; with every sentence he deported himself less like Pelman the partner, shrank more and more to Joey the devil clerk.  “The first part of your programme sounded like amateur stuff; but the second number is a scream.  Any mistreated guy would fall for that.  I would, myself.  He’ll be up against it for jail-breaking, conspiracy, assaulting an officer, using deadly weapons—­and the best is, he will actually be guilty and have no kick coming!  Look what a head that is of yours!  Even if he should escape rearrest here, it will be a case for extradition.  If he goes back to Arizona, he will be nabbed; our worthy sheriff will be furious at the insult to his authority and will make every effort to gather Mr. Johnson in.  Either way you have Johnson off your shoulders.”

“Stanley is off my shoulders, too, and good for a nice long term.  And I have full directions for reaching Stanley’s mine.  You and I, in that wild Arizona country, would not know our little way about; we will be wholly dependent upon Zurich; and, therefore, we must share our map with him.  But, on the whole, I think I have managed rather well than otherwise.  It may be, after this bonanza is safely in our hands, that we may be able to discover some ultimate wizardry of finance which shall deal with Zurich’s case.  We shall see.”

CHAPTER XIII

Mr. Francis Charles Boland, propped up on one elbow, sprawled upon a rug spread upon the grass under a giant willow tree at Mitchell House, deep in the Chronicles of Sir John Froissart.  Mr. Ferdinand Sedgwick tip-toed unheard across the velvet sward.  He prodded Frances Charles with his toe.

“Ouch!” said Francis Charles.

“You’ll catch your death of cold.  Get up!  Your company is desired.”

“Go ’way!”

“Miss Dexter wants you.”

“Don’t, either.  She was coiled in the hammock ten minutes ago.  Wearing a criminal neglige.  Picturesque, but not posing.  She slept; I heard her snore.”

“She’s awake now and wants you to make a fourth at bridge; you two against Elsie and me.”

“Botheration!  Tell her you couldn’t find me.”

“I would hush the voice of conscience and do your bidding gladly, old thing, if it lay within the sphere of practical politics.  But, unfortunately, she saw you.”

“Tell her to go to the devil!”

Ferdie considered this proposition and rejected it with regret.

“She wouldn’t do it.  But you go on with your reading.  I’ll tell her you’re disgruntled.  She’ll understand.  This will make the fourth day that you haven’t taken your accustomed stroll by the schoolhouse.  We’re all interested, Frankie.”

“You banshee!” Francis withdrew the finger that had been keeping his place in the book.  “I suppose I’ll have to go back with you.”  He sat up, rather red as to his face.