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Updated: May 12, 2025
"Yes, you won't leave town to-day; the inquest is to be held this afternoon, you will probably be wanted then, so hold yourself in readiness." "I hope you will arrange to get through with me as soon as possible, Moxlow!" "We won't put you to any unnecessary inconvenience if we can help it," returned Moxlow, with a queer cold smile. "Thank you," said North and quitted the room.
"Go on, boss!" cried Montgomery, in a fever of impatience. "Do you understand what I am telling you? John North did not kill McBride!" Langham spoke with painful effort. "Joe knows who did so do I so did my father he knew an innocent man had been convicted!" At mention of the judge, Moxlow started. He bent above Langham. "Marsh, if John North didn't kill McBride, who did?"
"I thought it was Mr. North, it looked like Mr. North, and I thought it was him, I thought so then and I think so now," said Montgomery desperately. "Are you willing to swear positively that it was John North?" demanded Moxlow. "No " said the handy-man, "No, I only say I thought it was John North.
For an instant Moxlow hesitated, then he said: "The truth is, North, there is not a clue to go on, and we are thrashing this thing over in the hope that we may sooner or later hit on something that will be of service to us." "Oh, all right," said North, with a return of good nature. "During your interview with McBride you were not interrupted, no one came into the store?"
His cross-examination was concluded one dull February day, and there came a brief halt in the rapid progress of the trial; the jury was sent from the room while Moxlow and Belknap prepared instructions and submitted them to the court. The judge listened wearily, his sunken cheek resting against the palm of his thin hand, and his gaze fixed on vacancy; when he spoke his voice was scarcely audible.
"It would seem a very desirable thing to communicate with North," suggested Moxlow. "I guess you are right; yes, I guess we had better try and find Mr. North," said the coroner. "Suppose you go after him, Mr. Conklin. Don't send go yourself," he added. Again Langham dragged himself forward; the coils of this hideous thing seemed to be tightening themselves about John North.
"The lower right-hand corner," replied the banker promptly. "That is why I hesitated to identify it; with this much of the upper left-hand corner for instance, I should not have been in doubt." "Excused," said Moxlow briefly. The room became blank before John North's eyes as he realized that a chain of circumstantial evidence was connecting him with the McBride murder.
There's Moxlow, the distinguished prosecuting attorney; without you to talk sense to him he's liable to listen to all sorts of queer people who take more interest in my affairs than is good for them; but as long as he's got you at his elbow he won't forget my little stake in his election."
I went there on a matter of business, to dispose of some bonds Mr. McBride had agreed to take off my hands; I was with him, maybe twenty minutes." "What were those bonds?" "Local gas bonds." "How many were there in the lot you sold?" "Five." "He paid you the money for them?" "Yes, a thousand dollars." "Do you know, we haven't unearthed those bonds yet?" said the doctor. Moxlow frowned slightly.
"I seen him Thanksgiving day along about four o'clock crossing the Square." "How was he dressed, did you notice?" "He was dressed like the man in the alley, he had on a black derby hat and a dark brown overcoat." "That's all," said Moxlow quietly. The coroner and the jury drew aside and began a whispered consultation.
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