Half an hour later, Major Montague had company of the most respectable sort in the reception-room of his compulsory boarding-house. The great iron-barred doors of the sombre building had opened almost obsequiously, to admit Judge Danvers, and the Major himself had been surprised at so prompt a response to his venturesome letter. Perhaps he failed to see that nothing could better have suited the Judge, if he cared to find him at all, than to find him under just those very circumstances. “You can get me out of this, easily enough,” he said, after a brief conversation. “Of course,” calmly responded the lawyer, “but I don’t see very clearly why I should meddle with it. I’m on the other side, you know.” “What other side?” asked the Major. “Why, Mr. Vernon’s,” replied the Judge. “So long as you’re locked up here I’m sure you won’t bother him.” “Very true,” said the Major with a leer that was meant to be very knowing; “but as long as I’m here I’ll keep my mouth shut as to some things he’d like very much to know.” “A year will settle that now,” replied the Judge, “if I don’t find it out sooner. Meantime, he’s doing very well.” “He might lose a good deal in a year,” suggested the Major. “I’m really Bar’s friend, and I wouldn’t like to see him do that.” “Then tell me what you know!” “Not till I’m out of this,” exclaimed the Major, with great energy, “and not till I see those papers. There’s things that nobody else can explain.” “Well,” replied the Judge, thoughtfully, “I think I’ll go to work about you. Take two or three days, you know. And even then I’ll fix it so you’ll walk right back here again if you break your word.” Major Montague must have felt even surer about the lawyer’s power in the premises than he did himself, so abjectly and earnestly did he labor to assure the Judge of the honesty of his intentions. A few days in prison will sometimes have a wonderfully quieting and sobering effect, and the Major was just the sort of man to yield to such an agency. Judge Danvers left the prison feeling as if he had somehow stumbled upon a very promising piece of work, but he had a good deal more before him that day, and he meant to be out of the city on the evening train. As for Major Montague, after the lawyer’s departure and his return to his own very narrow quarters, he sunk upon his cot bed with a remarkably sulky expression of countenance. “I haven’t told him anything,” he muttered; “but he’s bound to know. I reckon I can always keep some kind of a hold on Barnaby, but there ain’t any ready money to be made out of the Judge. Never mind; I’ll see my way to something before I get through with ’em all. See if I don’t.” Bar Vernon’s affairs were in good hands, beyond a doubt, and no man of Major Montague’s calibre was likely to “get up much earlier in the morning” than Bar’s self-appointed counsel. Nevertheless, Bar had a good deal of a surprise in store for him.