cases of books, mostly legal,
and filled with old-fashioned furniture.

That something had occurred to change the Judge's aspect during the
hours in which Pollock had been closeted with him was at once
apparent. He looked older, broken, haggard of face, terrified.

"I met Mr. Martinez and brought him along," Weir said.

"Was that necessary?" Judge Gordon asked, heavily.

"He's my attorney, for one thing."

"And I've been a prisoner in Vorse's cellar for twenty-four hours for
another, and you're one of those responsible for my being there and
for the torture to which I was subjected," Martinez exclaimed,
glaring.

"Mr. Martinez, I give you my word of honor that I knew nothing of your
incarceration until this morning."

"That for your word of honor!" the lawyer cried, snapping his fingers
in the air. "And in any case, you're an accessory after the fact. You
let me stay."

Pollock stepped forward.

"Is this Mr. Martinez? Glad to meet you, sir. Mr. Weir has spoken very
favorably of you and of your handling of legal matters for the
irrigation company, of which I am a director. Pollock is my name. Are
you a notary? Ah, that is good. There will be some papers to
acknowledge and witness and so on."

He pointed at seats, seemingly having direction of matters, and the
visitors sat down. Judge Gordon had sagged down in the padded leather
chair in which he sat; his face was colorless, his eyes moving
aimlessly to and fro, his white mustache and hair in disorder.

"Let us begin on business at once," Pollock stated, on his feet as was
usual when entering a discussion and removing his eye-glasses. "I
called on Judge Gordon this afternoon after my talk with you, Weir,
and disclosed the evidence which has been gathered relative to the
fraud perpetrated on your father and the crime against the man Dent. I
assumed, and rightly, that to a man of the Judge's legal mind the
facts we hold would prove the futility of resistance, and I set out to
convince him of the wisdom of sparing himself a long losing fight, in
which he would be opposing not only the evidence which was sure to
convict him, and not only you, Mr. Weir, but our company which
proposed to see the fight through. I went so far, Weir, as to promise
him immunity from your wrath and from public prosecution."

Weir arose slowly.

"No," said he, "no."

"But, my dear fellow----"

"No. He made my father's life a hell for thirty years. Why should I
spare him?"

"If