This was all the easier, because the very man who had caused that gentleman’s arrest had done so without any intention of actually bringing him to any “trial and conviction.” Such a net as they had cast around the Major was readily untangled by the skilful fingers of the great lawyer, even while he transferred the whole of it to his own control. As to the moderate sum of money it cost him, he never once thought of that. The immediate consequences were twofold. The first, that Major Montague found himself that Saturday morning, sitting in front of the Judge’s table in the inner room of his _suite_ of “offices,” to all appearances, at least, a free man again. The second, that the moment the doors of the prison closed behind him and he found his movements once more untrammeled, Major Montague began to feel a strong return of his habitual “bumptiousness,” not to say insolence, of disposition. “I’m out now,” he said to himself, “and old Danvers’ll never dream of sending me back again. Besides, I don’t half believe he can. Anyhow, I mean to make some kind of terms for myself before I tell him all I know. It’s the best card I’ve got and he must pay for it before he plays it.” Another idea, and one against the evil of which Judge Danvers ought to have carefully guarded him, had been that he would go and poison himself with “just about five fingers of old rye,” before he went to the lawyer’s office. Not that such a man could find anything like intoxication in a single drink of whiskey, however liberal, but that it supplied him with the very kind of wooden-headed obstinacy which he thought he needed, and which fools of his kind--all fools who drink whiskey--mistake for courage. “I can face him down now,” he muttered, as he reached the door, “only I wish I’d put in just one more real good snifter.” Another, most likely, would have been followed by “just one more,” for his prison fare had left him very “dry.” There he was now, however, with the hard penetrating eyes of Judge Danvers looking him through and through as he asked him: “Did you ever see that black valise before?” “It’s the one Jack Chills stole from me the day he ran away,” said the Major, with a toss of his head. “No nonsense, please,” calmly responded the lawyer. “Now, you’ve promised to tell me the history of it and what is in it. Perhaps the shortest way will be to open it at once.” “That’s my property, Judge,” said the Major, in a voice which was getting louder and firmer. “It’s mine, and I’ll open it when and where I please. I’ll thank you to hand it right over to me.” “Hand it over to you?” exclaimed the lawyer. “Yes, or pay me my own price for it. I want ten thousand down, and good security----” “Pay you--you miserable jail-bird!” almost fiercely interrupted the angry lawyer. “I’ll pay you----”