The Just and the Unjust Part 17

"It were not!" said Joe Montgomery positively.

"You saw the man's face?"

"As plain as I see yours!"

"And you know the man?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll tell you who you saw," said the gambler coolly; "it was Marshall Langham."

The handy-man swore a great oath.

"You've guessed it, boss! You've guessed it."

"It ain't a guess as it happens."

"Boss, do you mean to tell me you knew all along?" demanded Montgomery incredulously.

"Yes."

"But what about North?"

"That's his lookout, let him clear himself."

Joe, shambling and shuffling, took a turn about the room.

"Boss, if it was me that stood in his boots the halter would be as good as about my neck; they wouldn't give me no chance to clear myself,--they wouldn't let me! Them smart lawyers would twist and turn everything I said so that G.o.d A'mighty wouldn't know His own truth!"

"Well, you were in that alley, Joe; if you feel for him, I expect we could somehow shift it to you!" said Gilmore.

The handy-man slouched to the hearth again.

"None of that, boss!" he cried. "I've told you what took me there, so none of that!"

His voice shook with suppressed feeling, as he stood there scowling down on the gambler.

"Sit down, Joe!" said Mr. Gilmore, unruffled.

Reluctantly the handy-man sank into the chair indicated.

"Now you old sot," began the gambler, "you listen to me! I suppose if they could shift suspicion so that it would appear you had had something to do with the old man's murder, it would take Moxlow and the judge and any decent jury no time at all to hang you; for who would care a d.a.m.n whether you were hanged or not! But you needn't worry, I'm going to manage this thing for you, I'm going to see that you don't get into trouble. Now, listen, you're to let well enough alone. North is already under suspicion apparently. All right, we'll help that suspicion along.

If you have anything to tell, you'll say that the man who came over that shed looked like North!"

"Boss, I won't say a word about the shed or the alley!"

"Oh, yes you will, Joe! The man looked like North,--you remember, at the time 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 d.a.m.ned 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 pa.s.s! 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 official Colonel Harbison, Andy Gilmore, Shrimplin, Moxlow, Mr. Allison, the mayor, Conklin, the sheriff, and two policemen were present.

"Thank you, that is all, Mr. Gilmore," the coroner had said as Langham entered the room.

He turned and motioned one of the policemen to place a chair for the prosecuting attorney beside his own at the desk.

"As you know, Mr. Moxlow," the coroner began, "these gentlemen, Mr.

Shrimplin, Colonel Harbison and Mr. Gilmore, were the first to view the murdered man. Later I was summoned, and with the sheriff spent the greater part of the night in making an examination of the building. We found no clue. The murderer had gone without leaving any trace of his pa.s.sing. It is probable he entered by the front door, which Mr.

Shrimplin found open, and left by the side door, which was also open, but the crowd gathered so quickly both in the yard and in the street, that it has been useless to look for footprints in the freshly fallen snow. One point is quite clear, however, and that is the hour when the crime was committed. We can fix that almost to a certainty. The murderer did his work between half past five and six o'clock. Mr. Shrimplin has just informed us that the only person he saw on the Square, until he met Colonel Harbison, was John North, whom he encountered within a block of McBride's store and with whom he spoke. While Mr. Shrimplin stopped to speak with Mr. North the town bell rang the hour--six o'clock."

The coroner paused.

There was a moment's silence, then Marshall Langham made a half step forward. A sudden palsy had seized him, yet he was determined to speak; he felt that he must be heard, that he had something vital to say. An impulse he could not control compelled him to turn in the direction of Andy Gilmore, and for a brief instant his eyes fastened themselves on the gambler, who returned his gaze with a cynical smile, as though to say: "You haven't the nerve to do it." With the tip of his tongue Langham moistened his swollen lips. He was about to speak now, and Gilmore, losing his former air of bored indifference, leaned forward, eager to catch every word.

"I would like to say," he began in a tolerably steady voice, "that North left my office at half past four o'clock yesterday afternoon intending to see Mr. McBride; indeed, happening to glance from my window, I saw him enter the store. Before he left my office he had explained the business that was taking him to McBride's; we had discussed it at some length."

"What took him to McBride's?" demanded Doctor Taylor.