ho 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 God'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.

Moxlow, utterly dazed by his partner's confession, looked again at the
clock on the mantel. Fifteen minutes had passed. It was a quarter after
eight. His brows contracted as if he were trying to recall some half
forgotten engagement. Suddenly he turned, comprehendingly, to
Montgomery.

"My God!--North!" he exclaimed and rushed unceremoniously from the room.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE LAST NIGHT IN JAIL

Whether John North slept during his last night in jail the deputy
sheriff did not know, for that kindly little man kept his arms folded
across his breast and his face to the wall. The night wore itself out,
and at last pale indications of the dawn crept into the room. There was
the song of the birds and a little later the rumble of an occasional
wagon over the paved streets. North stirred and opened his eyes.

"Is it light?" he asked.

"Yes," said the deputy.

The day began with the familiar things that make up the round of life,
but North was conscious that he was thus occupying himself for the last
time. Then he seated himself and began a letter he had told Brockett he
wished to write. Once he paused.

"I will have time for this?" he asked.

"All the time you want, John," said Brockett hastily, as he slipped from
the room.

The sun's level rays lifted and slanted into the cell, while North,
remote from everything but the memory of Elizabeth's faith and courage,
labored to express himself. There was the sound of voices in the yard,
but their significance meant nothing to hi