ime you thought he looked like North, and you thought you recognized
his voice when he spoke, and you thought it was North's voice. He had on
a black derby hat and a dark brown overcoat; don't forget that, Joe, for
we are going to furnish young Mr. North with a bunch of worries."

The handy-man looked at him doubtfully, sullenly.

"I don't want to hang _him_, he's always treated _me_ white enough,
though I never liked him to hurt."

Gilmore laughed unpleasantly.

"Oh, there's no chance of that, your evidence won't hang him, but it
will give him a whole lot to think about; and Langham's a pretty decent
fellow; if you treat him right, he'll keep you drunk for the rest of
your days; you'll own him body and soul."

"A ignorant man like me couldn't go up against a sharp lawyer like Marsh
Langham! Do you know what'd happen to me? I'll tell you; I'd get so
damned well fixed I'd never look at daylight except through jail
windows; that's the trick I'd serve myself, boss."

"I'll take that off your hands," said Gilmore.

"And what do you get out of it, boss?" inquired the astute Mr.
Montgomery.

"You'll have to put your trust in my benevolence, Joe!" said the
gambler. "But I am willing to admit I want to see North put where he'll
have every inducement to attend strictly to his own business!"

CHAPTER NINE

THE STAR WITNESS

It was between nine and ten o'clock when Marshall Langham reached his
office. He scarcely had time to remove his hat and overcoat when a
policeman entered the room and handed him a note. It was a hasty scrawl
from Moxlow who wished him to come at once to the court-house.

As Moxlow's messenger quitted the room Langham leaned against his desk
with set lips and drawn face; this was but the beginning of the ordeal
through which he must pass! Then slowly he resumed his hat and overcoat.

The prosecuting attorney's office was on the second floor of the
court-house, at the back of the building, and its windows overlooked the
court-house yard.

On the steps and in the long corridors, men stood about, discussing the
murder. Langham pushed his way resolutely through these groups and
mounted the stairs. Moxlow's door was locked, as he found when he tried
to open it, but in response to his knock a bolt was drawn and a
policeman swung open the door, closing it the instant Marshall had
entered.

Langham glanced around. Doctor Taylor--the coroner--was seated before
the desk; aside from this offici