The Just and the Unjust Part 65

"Ask Watt to find Moxlow and bring him here. He's probably at his boarding-house."

He spoke with painful effort, and the doctor glanced uncertainly at Evelyn, who by a slight inclination of the head indicated that she wished her husband's request complied with. Taylor quitted the room.

"Why do you wish to see Moxlow?" Evelyn asked the moment they were alone.

"I want him here; I may wish to tell him something--and I may not, it all depends," he said slowly, as his heavy lids closed over his tired eyes.

It was daylight without, and there was the occasional sound of wheels in the street. Evelyn realized with a sudden sense of shock that unless Marshall's bloodless lips opened to tell his secret, but a few hours of life remained to John North.

A struggle was going on within her, it was a struggle that had never ceased from the instant she first entered the room. One moment she found she could pray that Marshall might speak; and the next terror shook her lest he would, and declare North's innocence and his own guilt. She slipped from his bedside and stealing to the window parted the long curtains with trembling hands. She felt widely separated in spirit from her husband; he seemed strangely indifferent to her; only his bitter sense of injury and hurt remained, his love had become a dead thing, since his very weakness carried him beyond the need of her. She belonged to his full life and there was nothing of tenderness and sympathy that survived. A slight noise caused her to turn from the window. Marshall was endeavoring to draw himself higher on his pillow.

"Here--lift me up--" he gasped, as she ran to his side.

She pa.s.sed an arm about him and did as he desired.

"That's better--" he panted.

"Shall I call the doctor?"

He shook his head and, as she withdrew her arm, lay back weak and shaken.

"I tell you I am hurt internally!" he said.

"Let me call the doctor!" she entreated.

"What can he do?"

"Marsh, if you believe this--" she began.

"You're thinking of him!" he snarled.

"I am thinking of you, Marsh!"

"He threw you over for the Herbert girl!" he said with an evil ghastly smile. "Do you want to save him for her?"

"You don't need to tell all, Marsh--" she said eagerly.

"That's you!" and he laughed under his breath. "I can't imagine you advocating anything absolutely right! If I tell, I'll make a clean breast of it; if I don't I'll lie with my last breath!"

He was thinking of Joe Montgomery now, as he had thought of him many times since he drew himself up out of that merciless yellow flood into which the handy-man had flung him. Evelyn looked at him wonderingly. His virtues, as well as his vices, were things beyond her comprehension.

The door opened, and Moxlow came into the room. At sight of him, Langham's dull eyes grew brilliant.

"I thought you would never get here!" he said.

"This _is_ too bad, Marsh!" said his law partner sympathizingly, as Evelyn yielded him her place and withdrew to the window again.

"Where's Taylor?" asked Langham abruptly.

"He's had to go to the jail, he was leaving the house as I got here,"

replied Moxlow.

There was the noise of voices in the hail, one of which was the colonel's, evidently raised in protest, then a clumsy hand was heard fumbling with the k.n.o.b and the door was thrown open, and Joe Montgomery slouched into the room.

"Boss, you got to see me now!" he cried.

The prosecuting attorney sprang to his feet with an angry exclamation.

"Let him alone--" said Langham weakly.

Montgomery stole to the foot of the bed and stared down on Langham.

"You tell him, boss," nodding his head toward Moxlow. "I put it up to you!" he said.

Langham's glance dwelt for an instant on the handy-man, then it shifted back to Moxlow.

"Stop the execution!" he said, and Moxlow thought his mind wandered.

"North didn't kill McBride," Langham went on. "Do you understand me--he is not the guilty man!"

A gray pallor was overspreading his face. It was called there by another presence in that room; an invisible but most potent presence.

"Do you understand me?" he repeated, for he saw that his words had made no impression on Moxlow.

"Go on, boss!" cried Montgomery, in a fever of impatience.

"Do you understand what I am telling you? John North did not kill McBride!" Langham spoke with painful effort. "Joe knows who did--so do I--so did my father--he knew an innocent man had been convicted!"

At mention of the judge, Moxlow started. He bent above Langham.

"Marsh, if John North didn't kill McBride, who did?"

But Langham made no reply. Weak, pallid, and racked by suffering, he lay back on his pillow. Joe leaned forward over the foot of the bed.

"Tell him, boss; it's no odds to you now--tell him quick for G.o.d's sake, or it will be too late!" he urged in a fearful voice.

There was a tense silence while they waited for Langham to speak. Moxlow heard the ticking of the clock on the mantel.

"If you have anything to say, Marsh--"

Langham raised himself on his elbows and his lips moved convulsively, but only a dry gasping sound issued from them; he seemed to have lost the power of speech.

"If North didn't kill McBride, who did?" repeated Moxlow.

A mighty effort wrenched Langham, again his lips came together convulsively, and then in a whisper he said:

"I did," and fell back on his pillow.

There was a moment of stillness, and then from behind the long curtains at the window came the sound of hysterical weeping.