"Why did I let him go? Idiot that I am! It is madness—worse than madness. It is confession. Am I losing my senses, that I did not insist upon his remaining and completing his testimony? At the worst it could never be proved. The wages of sin! The wages of sin!" he groans, as he sinks back in his chair and buries his face in his hands.
"Mr. Ralph Felton to the stand," orders Coroner Lord.
As on the preceding day, the court room is packed with the people of Raymond. There is a craning of necks toward the settees reserved for witnesses. Ralph Felton is not there, and there is a death-like stillness as Coroner Lord again calls this now most interesting of witnesses.
"Mr. Coroner!" The lank figure of the station agent at South Ashfield elevates itself above the crowd. "If it please your honor, Ralph Felton boarded the Montreal express at South Ashfield last night."
Of course there is a sensation, a murmur of voices that the coroner quickly checks. The few remaining witnesses are unimportant and the inquest is adjourned until afternoon.
CHAPTER VIII.
A PROPOSITION OF PARTNERSHIP.
The usual congress of village gossips is in session
to-night at the Exchange hotel. It is the fourth day
since the Raymond Bank affair, and the details of the
tragedy are discussed with an animation and a wealth of
clew that brings a smile to the face of John Barker, the
New York detective, who retreats to a quiet corner of the
hotel veranda to finish his cigar and muse upon the
affair with the calm contemplation characteristic of men
in his calling.
The detective's face expresses a shade of annoyance as
