"We found nothing in his pockets."
"Of course, if he bought North's bonds, that would account for a part of the sum Mr. Langham has just told us of," said Moxlow. "But where are the bonds?" he added.
"They were not among McBride's papers, that's sure," said the sheriff.
"Probably they were taken also, though it's hardly conceivable that the murderer waited to sort over the papers in the safe. I tell you, gentlemen, his position was a ticklish one." It was the coroner who spoke.
"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. Langham's face still bore traces of his recent debauch, and during the last few minutes a look of horror had slowly gathered in his bloodshot eyes. He now studiously avoided Gilmore's glance, though he was painfully aware of his presence. The gambler coolly puffed at a cigar as he leaned against the casing of the long window at Doctor Taylor's back; there was the faint shadow of a smile on his lips as he watched Langham furtively.
"I doubt if North will be found," said the latter. "I doubt if he is in Mount Hope," he continued haltingly.
"What?" It was Moxlow who spoke.
"This morning I received a brief communication from him; it was written late last night; he informed me that he should leave for the West on the Chicago express. He inclosed the keys to his rooms."