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particular danger of escape, for a guard stood always at his private door
instructed "to keep an eye" on the general movements of all the inmates. A
prisoner so accommodated was in many respects quite a free person. His
meals were served to him in his room, if he wished. He could read or play
cards, or receive guests; and if he had any favorite musical instrument, that
was not denied him. There was just one rule that had to be complied with. If
he were a public character, and any newspaper men called, he had to be
brought down-stairs into the private interviewing room in order that they
might not know that he was not confined in a cell like any other prisoner.
Nearly all of these facts had been brought to Cowperwood's attention
beforehand by Steger; but for all that, when he crossed the threshold of the
jail a peculiar sensation of strangeness and defeat came over him. He and
his party were conducted to a little office to the left of the entrance, where
were only a desk and a chair, dimly lighted by a low-burning gas-jet. Sheriff
Jaspers, rotund and ruddy, met them, greeting them in quite a friendly way.
Zanders was dismissed, and went briskly about his affairs.
"A bad night, isn't it?" observed Jaspers, turning up the gas and preparing
to go through the routine of registering his prisoner. Steger came over and
held a short, private conversation with him in his corner, over his desk
which resulted presently in the sheriff's face lighting up.
"Oh, certainly, certainly! That's all right, Mr. Steger, to be sure! Why,
certainly!"
Cowperwood, eyeing the fat sheriff from his position, understood what it was
all about. He had regained completely his critical attitude, his cool,
intellectual poise. So this was the jail, and this was the fat mediocrity of a
sheriff who was to take care of him. Very good. He would make the best of it.
He wondered whether he was to be searched—prisoners usually were—but
he soon discovered that he was not to be.
"That's all right, Mr. Cowperwood," said Jaspers, getting up. "I guess I can
make you comfortable, after a fashion. We're not running a hotel here, as
you know"—he chuckled to himself—"but I guess I can make you
comfortable. John," he called to a sleepy factotum, who appeared from
another room, rubbing his eyes, "is the key to Number Six down here?"
"Yes, sir."
"Let me have it."
John disappeared and returned, while Steger explained to Cowperwood that
anything he wanted in the way of clothing, etc., could be brought in. Steger
himself would stop round next morning and confer with him, as would any
of the members of Cowperwood's family whom he wished to see.
Cowperwood immediately explained to his father his desire for as little of
this as possible. Joseph or Edward might come in the morning and bring a
grip full of underwear, etc.; but as for the others, let them wait until he got
out or had to remain permanently. He did think of writing Aileen, cautioning
her to do nothing; but the sheriff now beckoned, and he quietly followed.
Accompanied by his father and Steger, he ascended to his new room.
It was a simple, white-walled chamber fifteen by twenty feet in size, rather
high-ceiled, supplied with a high-backed, yellow wooden bed, a yellow
bureau, a small imitation-cherry table, three very ordinary cane-seated
chairs with carved hickory-rod backs, cherry-stained also, and a wash-stand
of yellow-stained wood to match the bed, containing a washbasin, a pitcher,
a soap-dish, uncovered, and a small, cheap, pink-flowered tooth and
shaving brush mug, which did not match the other ware and which
probably cost ten cents. The value of this room to Sheriff Jaspers was what
he could get for it in cases like this—twenty-five to thirty-five dollars a week.
Cowperwood would pay thirty-five.
Cowperwood walked briskly to the window, which gave out on the lawn in
front, now embedded in snow, and said he thought this was all right. Both
his father and Steger were willing and anxious to confer with him for hours,
if he wished; but there was nothing to say. He did not wish to talk.
"Let Ed bring in some fresh linen in the morning and a couple of suits of
clothes, and I will be all right. George can get my things together." He was
referring to a family servant who acted as valet and in other capacities. "Tell
Lillian not to worry. I'm all right. I'd rather she would not come here so long
as I'm going to be out in five days. If I'm not, it will be time enough then.
Kiss the kids for me." And he smiled good-naturedly.
After his unfulfilled predictions in regard to the result of this preliminary
trial Steger was almost afraid to suggest confidently what the State Supreme
Court would or would not do; but he had to say something.
"I don't think you need worry about what the outcome of my appeal will be,
Frank. I'll get a certificate of reasonable doubt, and that's as good as a stay
of two months, perhaps longer. I don't suppose the bail will be more than
thirty thousand dollars at the outside. You'll be out again in five or six days,
whatever happens."
Cowperwood said that he hoped so, and suggested that they drop matters
for the night. After a few fruitless parleys his father and Steger finally said
good night, leaving him to his own private reflections. He was tired, however,
and throwing off his clothes, tucked himself in his mediocre bed, and was
soon fast asleep.
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