CHAPTER VI


That very night Leighton sought out his friend, the chief of police. He
told him his story from the first creeping fear for his boy to the
moment of terrible vengeance.

"So you killed him, eh?" said the chief, tossing his cigarette from him
and thoughtfully lighting another. "Too bad. You ought to have come to
me first, my friend, turned him over to us for a beating. It would have
come to the same thing in the end and saved you a world of trouble. But
what's done, is done. Now we must think. What do you suggest?"

Amazement dawned in Leighton's haggard face.

"What do _I_ suggest?" he answered. "What does the _law_ suggest, sir?
Are there no courts and prison-bars In this country for--for----"

"There, there," interrupted the chief. "As you say, there are courts, of
course, gaols, too; but our accommodations for criminals are not
suitable for gentlemen."

"It is not for me to choose my accommodation, sir. I am here to pay the
penalty of my crime. I have come to be arrested."

"Arrested?" repeated the chief, staring at Leighton. "Are you not my
friend? Are you not the friend of all of us that count?"

"But--but----" stammered Leighton.