The Red Seal | Page 5

a clear case of house-breaking has been proven against the prisoner by reputable witnesses. He will have to stand trial."
For the first time the prisoner raised his eyes from contemplation of the floor.
"I demand trial by jury," he announced.
"It is your right," acknowledged the Judge, and turned to consult his calendar.
Stepping forward, the deputy marshal laid his hand on the burglar's shoulder.
"Go inside," he directed and held open the cage door, which immediately swung back into place, and Rochester, following closely at the prisoner's heels, halted abruptly. A fit of coughing shook the burglar and he paused by the iron railing, gasping for breath.
"Water," he pleaded, and a court attendant handed a cup to Rochester, standing just outside the cage, and he passed it over the iron railing to the burglar. Then turning on his heel the lawyer rejoined Clymer, his discontent plainly discernible.
"A clear case against your client," remarked Clymer, reading his thoughts. "Don't take the affair to heart, man; you did your best under difficulties."
Rochester shook his head gloomily. "I might have - Jove! why didn't I ask for bail?"
"Bail!" The banker suppressed a chuckle as he eyed the threadbare suit and tattered appearance of the burglar, who had resumed his seat in the prisoner's cage. "Who would have stood surety for that scarecrow?"
"I would have." Rochester spoke with some vehemence, but his words were partly drowned by the violent fit of coughing which again shook the burglar, and before he could finish his sentence, Helen McIntyre stood at his elbow. She bowed gravely to Clymer who rose at her approach, and laid a persuasive hand on Rochester's sleeve.
"Will you come with us?" she asked. "Barbara and Dr. Stone are ready to leave. The doctor wishes to -" As she spoke she looked across at Stone, who stood opposite her in the little group. He failed to catch both her word and her eye, his gaze, passing over her shoulder, was riveted on the burglar.
"Something is wrong," he announced and pushed past Barbara. "Let me inside the cage," he directed as the deputy marshal kept the gate closed at his approach. "Your prisoner appears ill."
One glance at the burglar proved the truth of the physician's statement and the gate was hastily opened. Stone bent over the man, whose spasmodic breathing could be heard distinctly through the court room, then his gaze shifted to the other occupants of the cage.
"The man must have air," he declared. "Your aid here." Looking up his eyes met Clymer's, and the latter came swiftly into the cage, followed by Rochester, and the deputy marshal slammed the door shut behind them.
"Step out this way," he said, as Clymer aided the physician in lifting the burglar, and he led them into the ante-room whence prisoners were taken into the cage.
Stretching his burden on the floor, Stone tore open the man's shirt and felt his heart, while Clymer, spying a water cooler, sped across the room and returned immediately with a brimming glass.
"Here's water," he said, but Stone refused the proffered glass.
"No use," he announced. "The man is dead."
"Dead!" echoed the deputy marshal. "Well, I'll be - say, doctor," but Stone had darted out of the room, and he turned open-mouthed to Clymer. "If it wasn't Doctor Stone I would say he was crazy," he declared.
"Tut! Feel the man's heart and convince yourself," suggested Clymer tartly, and the deputy marshal, dropping on one knee, did so. Detecting no heart-beat, the officer passed his hand over the dead man's unshaven chin and across his forehead, brushing back the unkempt hair. Under his none too gentle touch the wig slipped back, revealing to his astonished gaze a head of short cropped, red hair.
Clymer, who had followed the deputy marshal's movements with interest, gave a shout which was echoed by Rochester and Dr. Stone, who returned at that moment.
"Good God!" gasped Clymer, shaken out of his accustomed calm. "Jimmie Turnbull!"
The deputy marshal eyed the startled men.
"You don't mean -" he stammered, and paused.
For answer Dr. Stone straightened the dead man and removed the wig.
"James Turnbull," he said gravely, and turning, addressed Rochester, who had dropped down on the nearest chair. "Cashier of the Metropolis Trust Company, Rochester, and your roommate, masquerading as a burglar."

CHAPTER II
THE GAME OF CONSEQUENCES
R 0 Chester did not appear to hear Dr. Stone's words. With eyes half starting from their sockets he sat staring at the dead man, completely oblivious of the others' presence. After watching him for a moment the physician turned briskly to the dazed deputy marshal.
"Summon the coroner," he directed. "We cannot move the body until he comes."
His curt tone brought the official's wits back with a jump and he made for the exit, only to be stopped at the threshold by a sandy-haired man just entering the room.
At the word coroner,