"What do you s'pose that was fur?" one man asked another.
"For impression. It shows how mighty cute Trafford is, an' let's folks know that there's somebody arter 'em as knows what's what."
"Onless Trafford got it up hisself fur adver-*tisin'," suggested the other, a hard-headed Yankee to whom shrewdness was a natural instinct.
"Do you own a pistol?" demanded the coroner, as Oldbeg settled himself to his examination.
Every eye turned towards the witness, who fidgeted before answering, as if he was in doubt what to say. At last, when attention was at its keenest, he found his tongue and said:
"Nope."
"Yet you bought a thirty-two calibre one on May eighth."
It had already been testified that the fatal shot was fired from a thirty-two calibre revolver. Every person present was alive with the thought that a critical moment in the inquest had come.
"Yep; but I gave it away."
"When?"
