"I suppose the finding of the coroner's jury doesn't amount to much," he presently said but without looking in Langham's direction.
The lawyer did not answer him. He crossed to his desk which filled the space between the two windows overlooking the Square.
"You're damn social!" snarled Gilmore over his shoulder.
"I told you I was busy," said Langham, and he began to finger the papers on his desk.
Gilmore swung around in his chair and faced him.
"So you won't see him—North, I mean?" he queried. "Well, you're a hell of a friend, Marsh. You've been as thick as thieves, and now when he's up against it good and hard, you're the first man to turn your back on him!"
Seating himself, Langham took up his pen and began to write. Gilmore watched him in silence for a moment, a smile of lazy tolerance on his lips.
"Suppose North is acquitted, Marsh; suppose the grand jury doesn't hold him," he said at length; "will the search for the murderer go on?"
The pen slipped from Langham's fingers to the desk.
"Look here, I don't want to discuss North or his affairs with you. It's nothing to me; can't you get that through your head?"