Breathing deep,
he fell back a step or two, and then with all the vigor he could
muster launched himself at the door. But it resisted him.
"It's bolted on the other side!" he muttered, the full measure of
Pegloe's perfidy revealing itself to his mind.
He was aghast. It was a plot to discredit him. Pegloe's
hospitality had been inspired by his enemy, for Pegloe was
Fentress' tenant.
Again he attacked the door; he believed it might be possible to
force it from its hinges, but Pegloe had done his work too well
for that, and at last, spent and breathless, the judge dropped
down on the edge of his bed to consider the situation. He was
without clothes and he was a prisoner, yet his mind rose
splendidly to meet the difficulties that beset him. His greatest
activities were reserved for what appeared to be only a season of
despair. He armed himself with a threelegged stool he had found
and turned once more to the door, but the stout planks stood firm
under his blows.
"Unless I get out of here in time I'm a ruined man!" thought the
judge. "After this Fentress will refuse to meet me!"
The window next engaged his attention. That, too, Pegloe had
taken the precaution to fasten, but a single savage blow of the
stool shattered glass and sash and left an empty space that
framed the dawn's red glow. The judge looked out and shook his
head dubiously. It was twelve feet or more to the ground, a
risky drop for a gentleman of his years and build.
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