that this stranger must have been in Cunningham's rooms for almost an
hour, during which time the millionaire promoter had been murdered?

"Describe the man."

This tall, angular woman, whose sex the years had seemed to have dried
out of her personality, made a much better witness than her husband.
She was acid and incisive, but her very forbidding aspect hinted of the
"good woman" who never made mistakes. She described the stranger who
had knocked at her door with a good deal of circumstantial detail.

"He was an outdoor man, a rancher, perhaps, or more likely a
cattleman," she concluded.

"You have not seen him since that time?"

She opened her lips to say "No," but she did not say it. Her eyes had
traveled past the lawyer and fixed themselves on Kirby Lane. He saw
the recognition grow in them, the leap of triumph in her as the long,
thin arm shot straight toward him.

"That's the man!"

A tremendous excitement buzzed in the courtroom. It was as though some
one had exploded a mental bomb. Men and women craned forward to see
the man who had been identified, the man who no doubt had murdered
James Cunningham. The murmur of voices, the rustle of skirts, the
shuffling of moving bodies filled the air.

The coroner rapped for order. "Silence in the court-room," he said