tion reaching back to a
period when revenge was justice, and custom of kinsfolk the only law,
Shane O'Connell had sought out Red McGurk and had sent him unshriven to
his God. The only reason why this everyday Bowery occurrence excited any
particular attention was not that Shane was an O'Connell but that McGurk
was the son of a political boss of much influence and himself one of the
leaders of a notorious cohort of young ruffians who when necessary could
be relied upon to stuff a ballot box or otherwise to influence public
opinion. As Red was a mighty man in Gideon, so his taking off was an
event of moment, and he was waked with an elegance unsurpassed in the
annals of Cherry Hill.

"An' if ye don't put the son-of-a----- who kilt me b'y in th' chair, ye
name's mud--see?" the elder McGurk had informed District Attorney
Peckham the next morning. "I've told the cops who done it. Now you do
the rest--understand?"

Peckham understood very well. No one seeing the expression on McGurk's
purple countenance could have failed to do so.

"We'll get him! Don't you worry!" Peckham had assured the desolated
father with a manner subtly suggesting both the profoundest sympathy and
the prophetic glories of a juridical revenge in which the name of McGurk
would be upon every lip and the picture of the deceased, his family, and
the home in which they dwelt would be featured on the front page of
every journal. "We'll get him, all right!"

"See to it that ye do!" commented his visitor meaningly.

Therefore, though no one had seen him commit the crime, word was passed
along the line to pick up Shane O'Connell for the murder of Red McGurk.
It mattered not there was no evidence except the report of a muttered
threat or two and the lie passed openly the week before.

Everybody knew that Shane had done it, and why; though no one could tell
how he knew it. And because everybody knew, it became a political
necessity for Peckham to put him under arrest with a great fanfare of
trumpets and a grandiose announcement of the celerity with which the
current would be turned through his body.

The only fly in the ointment was the fact that O'Connell had walked into
the district attorney's office as soon as the rumor reached him and
quietly submitted to being arrested, saying merely: "I heard you wanted
me. Well, here I am!"

But though they badgered him for hours, lured him by every pretext to
confess, put a stool pigeon in the same cell with him, a