spute in the town council was dependent for
arbitration upon the keen mind and understanding wit of the old judge.

The four o'clock train had just puffed its labored way from the station
when a stranger entered his office, a stranger of uncommonly prosperous
air. The keen blue eyes of the old attorney appraised him instantly and
classified him as a successful man of business, not yet forty years of
age, and with a weighty problem on his mind.

"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked, removing his feet from the
battered desk top.

"You may be able to help me a great deal, Judge," was the unexpected
reply. "I came to Laketon to give myself up."

"Give yourself up?" Culkin rose to his feet in surprise and
unconsciously straightened his shoulders in the effort to seem less
dwarfed before the tall stranger. "Why, what do you mean?" he inquired.

* * * * *

"I wish to give myself up for murder," answered the amazing visitor,
slowly and with decision, "for a murder committed twelve years ago. I
should like you to listen to my story first, though. It has been kept
too long."

"But I still do not understand." There was puzzlement in the honest old
face of the attorney. He shook his gray locks in uncertainty. "Why
should you come here? Why come to me? What possible interest can I have
in the matter?"

"Just this, Judge. You do not recognize me now, and you will probably
consider my story incredible when you hear it. But, when I have given
you all the evidence, you will know who I am and will be compelled to
believe. The murder was committed in Laketon. That is why I came to
you."

"A murder in Laketon? Twelve years ago?" Again the aged attorney shook
his head. "But--proceed."

"Yes. I killed Thomas Forsythe."

The stranger looked for an expression of horror in the features of his
listener, but there was none. Instead the benign countenance took on a
look of deepening amazement, but the smile wrinkles had somehow vanished
and the old face was grave in its surprised interest.

"You seem astonished," continued the stranger. "Undoubtedly you were
convinced that the murderer was Larry Crompton--Old Crompton, the
hermit. He disappeared the night of the crime and has never been heard
from since. Am I correct?"

"Yes. He disappeared all right. But continue."

Not by a lift of his eyebrow did Culkin betray his disbelief, but the
stranger sensed that his story was somehow not as startling as