in the negative, and Yorke departed upon
his quest. Slavin ushered Lee and the hobo into the room. To the
sergeant's surprise he beheld the justice sitting at the table writing.
He concluded that that gentleman must have just stepped in from the rear
entrance of the hotel, or the bar, during his own and Yorke's temporary
absence.

At the entrance of the trio Gully raised his head and, with the pen
poised in his fingers, sat perfectly motionless, staring at them
strangely out of his shadowy eyes. His face seemed transformed into a
blank, expressionless mask. The sergeant leaned over the table and spoke
to him in a rapid aside.

"Ah!" murmured Mr. Gully, and he remained for a space in deep thought.
"Sergeant," he began presently, "I'll have to be pulling out soon.
Before we start in with this man . . . will you kindly step down to
Doctor Cox's with these papers and ask him to sign them?"

It seemed an ordinary request. Slavin complied.

Returning some ten or fifteen minutes later he noticed Lee was absent.
The magistrate answered his query. "Sent him round to throw the harness
on my team," he drawled, as he pored over a Criminal Code, "he'll be back
in a moment--ah! here he is." And just then the latter entered, along
with Yorke. The hobo was sitting slumped in a chair, as Slavin had left
him. With one accord they all centred their gaze upon the unkempt
delinquent. Ragged and unwashed, he presented a decidedly unlovely
appearance, which was heightened by his stubble-coated visage showing
signs as of recent ill-usage. His age might have been anything between
thirty and forty.

The sergeant, a huge, menacing figure of a man, stepped forward and
motioned to him to stand. "Now, see here; look, me man!" he said slowly
and distinctly, a sort of tense eagerness underlying his soft tones,
"behfure I shtart in charrgin' ye wid anythin' I'm goin' tu put a few
questions tu ye in front av this ginthleman"--he indicated the
justice--"He's a mag'strate, so ye'd best tell th' trute. Now--th' night
behfure last--betune say, nine an' twelve o'clock . . . fwhere was
ye?"--he paused--"Think harrd, an' come across wid th' straight goods."

A tense silence succeeded. The hobo, the cynosure of a ring of watchful
expectant faces, mumbled indistinctly, "I was sleepin'--up in th' loft o'
th' livery-stable."

"Did yeh--" Slavin eyed the man keenly--"did yeh see--or hear--any fella
take a harse out av th' shtable durin' that