"They are!" the sheriff thundered, pointing a long, gnarled finger dramatically at the captives. "Up fer life, I hope! Lock 'em up. Get 'em out of my sight afore I throttle the both of 'em with my own bare hands!" George cast baleful, faded eyes at his two charges and nodded toward a door at the rear of the room. "Come along peaceable," he quavered. "The man'll have to bunk in with the drunk in number one." He looked at Toffee with a smile that was only a ghost of itself. "You can have a cell all to yourself, miss. We've got two." Toffee cast a hopeful glance toward the street door, but instead of finding a possible path to freedom, it encountered only what appeared to be a solid wall of gaping mouths and goggling eyes. The villagers, currently looking like an assortment of strangling guppies in an over-crowded aquarium, had turned out to see the murderers; rare things in their quiet town. A low whistle issued from the staring group as Toffee moved into full view. "Sure hot out tonight, ain't it?" a rural humorist commented sweetly, turning away. * * * * * Marc watched dolefully as the drunk, a dapper little man, bearing the mark of elegance in distress ... and alcoholism in over-abundance ... tottered uncertainly across the cell and clung eagerly to the bars. Blinking, he peered at Toffee in the opposite cell. "My wife would kill me," he murmured thickly. "Now I'm seein' redheaded dames!" Across the aisle, Toffee looked up quickly, the overhead light falling sharply across her vivid face. "Look out who you're calling a dame!" she snapped. "You sodden little alcoholic. Why don't you become anonymous?" "Geez!" the fellow breathed wonderingly. "She talks! I could hear her just as plain! She talks kinda mean, but she's got a real nice voice." "Don't let it go to your head," Marc warned sourly. "She'll talk to anyone. She'd even pass the time of day with Jack the Ripper if she had the chance." "Better than drunks," Toffee commented dryly. "Don't you like liquor?" the little man asked worriedly. "Not from a distance. Please breathe out the window." Obediently, the fellow lurched toward the tiny cell window and perched his chin on its sill. "Like this?" he asked, anxious to please. "Much obliged," Toffee rewarded him. "That helps a little." She turned anxiously to Marc. "How are we going to get out of here?" she asked. "We wouldn't be in here in the first place," Marc lamented bitterly, "if that half-witted Herrigg hadn't dropped us right into their laps." "I guess he thought you wanted to be near the telegraph office. It's just our luck that the jail turned up right next door." Her expression became deeply thoughtful. "Do you think he can really do what he says?" "How should I know? But I do think we're likely to find out. Even if I manage to get out of here in time, no one will ever believe me. I wouldn't believe it myself. What was down in the laboratory?"