aloofness. Conklin, the fat jolly sheriff; the coroner; Moxlow, the
prosecuting attorney in his baggy trousers and seam-shining coat,--why,
he had known these men all his life, he had met them daily,--what did
they mean by suspecting him! The mere suspicion was a monstrous wrong!
His face reddened; he glanced about him haughtily.

Now at a sign from the coroner, Conklin placed his fat hands on the arms
of his chair and slowly drew himself out of its depths, then he crossed
to North. The young fellow rose, and turned a pale face toward him.

"John," said the sheriff gently, "I have an unpleasant duty to perform."

In spite of himself the pallor deepened on North's face.

"I understand," he said in a voice that was low and none too steady.

During this scene Moxlow's glance had been centered on North in a fixed
stare of impersonal curiosity, now he turned with quick nervous decision
and snatching up his shabby hat from the table, left the room.

Langham had preceded him by a few moments, escaping unobserved when
there were eyes only for North.

"I am ready, Conklin."

And a moment later North and the sheriff passed out into the twilight.
Neither spoke until they came to the court-house Square.

"We'll go in this way, John!" said the sheriff in a tone that was meant
to be encouraging, but failed.