"You are taking this very coolly, Mr. Sullivan," said the officer.
"Yes," was the answer, "why shouldn't I? My conscience does not trouble me."
"This proceeding was not altogether unexpected?"
"Well, yes, it was rather, at this hour of the night."
Brown stepped to the door and Broderick followed. Sullivan came behind.
Brown opened the door. Broderick stepped out, closely followed by Sullivan and Palmer. The three men went down the steps to the sidewalk, where they were met by Williams. All four entered the carriage which was in waiting. A dozen people were on the sidewalk, and Sullivan's next door neighbors had gathered on the veranda to see the Irish leader driven away. The driver gathered his reins, wheeled the horses around, and started them toward Dearborn avenue at a rapid trot. The vehicle had barely reached the corner when a little newsboy, with a big bundle of evening papers under his left arm, and waving an open one with his right, ran up to the carriage window.
"Here is your extra," he screamed, with all the strength of his infantile lungs. "All about Alexander Sullivan charged with Cronin's murder."
Not a muscle of Sullivan's face moved, not a fibre of his frame, so far as the officers observed, so much as twitched. He sat in his seat as motionless as a statue, apparently the most unconcerned of the four occupants of the vehicle.
Within five minutes the jail was reached. Williams was the first to alight, and, going up the steps, two at a time, he rapped heavily upon the iron door. In a moment it was opened. He ran down again to the carriage, and the other three men, Sullivan included, stepped out. The prisoner ascended the stone steps to the jail with deliberation, nodded to a bailiff who bade him good evening, and passed in. Not a word was spoken as the little party crossed the hall way and yard. The turnkey had evidently been prepared for the new arrival, for, no sooner had Palmer reached the head of the little stairway leading to the jail proper, than the iron gates swung open for their reception. In a dignified manner Sullivan bowed to the bailiff inside, but did not speak. The full light of a half dozen gas jets shone full on his face. Not the slightest change was observable in his appearance. He was just as cool, just as collected, just as courteous, as he had appeared to his clients in his office but a few hours before. He stepped up to the wicket as Palmer read the mittimus to the deputy jailer, and, when the latter bade him a cordial good evening, he merely nodded his head. The officials did not ask him a single question, and when one of the bystanders approached him and asked: "Have you anything to say to-night?" he replied, in a polite but firm tone that admitted of no doubt as to its meaning: