"Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole
closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a
place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his
caressing touch.

At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was
thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy
show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he
desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he
vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He
was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was
rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately,
his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store.

"You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are
very careful you may destroy important evidence!"

The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a
man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager
low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on
nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the
dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon
occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen
speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had
gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain
admittance to it.

At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his
way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside,
he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit