“You’re goin’ back on me!” cried Montgomery.  “Then you look out.  I’m a man as can do harm if I have a mind to; don’t you give me the mind, boss!”

“I shall lay this matter before Mr. Moxlow in the morning,” replied the judge quietly and with apparent indifference, but covertly he was watching the effect of his words on Montgomery.

“And then they’ll be after me!” cried the handy-man.

“Very likely,” said the judge placidly.

Montgomery glanced about as though he half expected to see Gilmore rise up out of some shadowy corner.

“Boss, do you want to know who it was I seen come over old man McBride’s shed?  Do you want to know why Andy and Marsh are so set agin my goin’ home to my old woman?  Why they give me money?  It’s a pity I ain’t a smarter man!  I’d own ’em, both body and soul!”

“Man, you are mad!” cried the judge.

But this man who was usually austere and always unafraid, was feeling a strange terror of the debased and slouching figure before him.

“Do you reckon you’re man enough to hear what I got in me to tell?” asked Montgomery, again raising his right hand high above his head as if he called on Heaven to witness the truth of what he said.  “Why won’t they let me go home to my old woman, boss?  Why do they keep me at Andy Gilmore’s—­why do they give me money?  Because what I’m tellin’ you is all a lie, I suppose!  Just because they like old Joe Montgomery and want him ’round!  I don’t think!” He threw back his head and laughed with rough sarcasm.  “You’re a smarter man than me, boss; figure it out; give a reason for it!”

But the judge, white-faced and shaken to his very soul, was silent; yet he guessed no part of the terrible truth Montgomery supposed he had made plain to him.  At the most he believed Marshall was shielding Gilmore from the consequences of a crime the gambler had committed.

Montgomery, sinister and menacing, shuffled across the room and then back to the judge’s side.

“You ask Marsh, boss, what it all means.  I got nothin’ more to say!  Ask him who killed old man McBride!  If he don’t know, no man on this green earth does!”

The judge’s face twitched convulsively, but he made no answer to this.

“Ask him!” repeated the handy-man, and swinging awkwardly on his heel went from the room without a single backward glance.

An instant later the street-door closed with a noisy bang.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

AN UNWILLING GUEST

Montgomery told himself he would go home; he had seen the last of the gambler and Marsh Langham, he would look out for his own skin now and they could look out for theirs.  He laughed boisterously as he strode along.  He had fooled them both; he, Joe Montgomery, had done this, and by a very master stroke of cunning had tied the judge’s hands.  But as he shuffled down the street he saw the welcoming lights of Lonigan’s saloon and suddenly remembered there was good hard money in his ragged pockets.  He would have just one drink and then go home to his old woman.