n Mr. Constable.

The lines that come gradually with age and experience give meaning
and character to the face--even the traces of illness are not without
a certain dignity. But when care begins to crease the face of
self-complacence its effects are distortions, terrible as those
which some iron implement of torture would suddenly produce.

Mr. Constable's florid countenance was without a line until it was
wrinkled and furrowed and scarred.

Mr. Hertzog was shocked by the appearance of his partner. Was the man
going mad? He had seen such changes foreshadow insanity. But if he was
going mad--from what cause? He must make sure.

Mr. Constable sat in the junior partner's private office reading a copy
of the affidavits supporting the latest move in Horton's long fight, and
Mr. Hertzog watched him. He noted that the trembling hands left little
spots of perspiration on the pages, he saw the twitching lips every now
and then forming words--he counted the rapid throbbing of the arteries
in head and neck. All this he had expected and discounted, but he was
unprepared for the horrid look of cunning in the man's eyes, as he
glanced up from his reading.

For a few moments neither of the partners spoke. Then Mr. Constable
broke the silence.

"You think--you would say these papers were--that they made a strong
case?"

Mr. Constable's eyes were fixed upon his partner in anxious inquiry,
like a sick man waiting the decision of a doctor testing the heart or
lungs.

"Yes, it's strong. Too damned strong."

The answer given slowly and with emphasis was received with a smile such
as the face of a dead man might attempt with cracking skin and snapping
muscles.

"And the papers--are they--should you say they were well drawn?"

"Yes--that fellow Mackenzie seems to have learned something during these
years--damn him! By the way, how long did he get?"

"Who?"

"Horton, of course."

"Three, I think--yes, it was three years."

"Then he's served two years and--let's see--two years and three months."

Mr. Hertzog pushed the electric button in his desk. "Get me the Revised
Statutes covering Sing Sing regulations," he said to the boy who
answered the summons. The book was brought and Mr. Hertzog began
studying its pages, his head resting on his hands and his elbows on the
desk. For five minutes--ten minutes, there was silence.

"Don't let's take up this thing, Hertzog--I think--I think he'll win."
Mr. Constable's voice was almos