"No wonder I'm all to the bad. But why am I kept locked up in this house of detention?"
McGrath grinned and spoke for the prosecutor.
"Witnesses is wary game and scarce; it ain't always the open season, so we got to keep 'em in cold storage, see?"
Pemmican ignored this remark, but turned to the prosecutor, and there was a whine in the voice that said:—
"You made my bail so infernally large that my friends would not put it up for me."
"I did it purposely," Murgatroyd declared, still smiling. "This is an important case; you are the only witness; and I've got to keep you where your friends cannot reach you—" here a faint flush spread over the prosecutor's countenance—"cannot corrupt you, Pemmican."
Suddenly Murgatroyd rose from his revolving chair. He nodded a dismissal to McGrath; and then going over to a table in the centre of the room, he drew to him a sheet of foolscap from a pile lying there, and said:—
"Come over here, Pemmican!" There was an article of some kind in the hand that rested on the table. "Just sketch me here—on this paper—a little plan showing the position of the men in Room A that night."
"Sure," volunteered Pemmican, taking the proffered pencil; "now, here was Colonel Hargraves, here was——"
He stopped abruptly. For he had seen that the article in Murgatroyd's hand was a wallet marked "R. H."