“Jere,” asked Judge Priest, directly the young man had made him welcome, “whutever become of them three post-office robbers that hired you to defend 'em--still over in the Marshallville jail, ain't they?” “Two of them are,” said young Fairleigh. “The one they call the Waco Baby got out on bail and skipped. But the other two--Frisco Slim and Montreal Red--are in jail over there awaiting trial at the next term of United States Court.” Judge Priest smiled softly. “Young man,” he said, “it certainly looks to me like you're climbin' mighty fast in your chosen profession. All your clients 'pear to have prominent cities named alter 'em. Tell me,” he went on, “whut kind of persons are the two that are still lingerin' in Marshallville?” “Well,” said the young lawyer, “there's a world of difference between 'em. Frisco is the glum, morose kind; but Montreal Red--his real name is Mooney, he tells me, though he's got half a dozen other names--he's certainly a wise individual. Just associating with him in my capacity as his counsel has been a liberal education to me in the ways of the underworld. I firmly believe he knows every professional crook in the country.” “Aha! I see,” said Judge Priest. “I figger Mister Montreal is the party I want to meet. I'm thinkin' of runnin' down to Marshallville on business right after dinner to-day. I reckin you wouldn't mind--in strict confidence--givin' me a little note of introduction to your client, tellin' him I seek his advice on a private matter, and sayin' that I kin be trusted?” “I'll be mighty glad to,” said Fairleigh, Junior, reaching across his desk for pen and paper. “I'll write it right now. Turning detective, Judge?” “Well, son,” conceded Judge Priest, “you mout call it that and not make sech an awful big mistake.” “Sort of a Sherlock Holmes, eh?” The judge made a gesture of modest disclaimer. “No; I reckin Sherlock would be out of my class. By all accounts Sherlock knowed purty nigh ever'thing wuth knowin'. If he'd struck two different trails, both seemin'ly p'intin' in the same direction, he'd know right off which one of 'em to take. That's where he'd be one pawpaw above my tallest persimmon. Sometimes I git to thinkin' I'm a poor purblind old idiot that can't see a thing when it's shoved right up under my nose. No; I ain't aspirin' none to qualify ez a Sherlock. I'm only endeavourin' to walk ez an humble disciple in the hallowed footsteps of Old Cap Collier.” “What do you know about Old Cap Collier?” demanded Fairleigh, astonished. “I thought I was the only grown man in town that still read nickel libraries--on the sly.” “Boy,” said Judge Priest, “you and me have got a secret bond between us. Wasn't that there last one that come out a jim-dandy?--the one called Old Cap Collier and the Great Diamond Robbery. “It was so,” stated Fairleigh. “I read it last night in bed.”