CHAPTER XXVI

I'

I

F IT appears that Barry O'Carolan has been neg

lected in these recent chronicles, it must not be as

sumed that he has ceased to be a part of life at Norcross. When one glances at his watch, he is conscious only of its hands and face, yet the myriads of smaller pieces which together constitute its mechanism are performing their more humble functions with faithful accuracy and regularity.

All Barry's actual knowledge of the tragedy came from the many and conflicting stories which passed from mouth to mouth. Like Richard's other friends, he was unable to explain his loyalty in the face of the facts as known; but nothing could swerve him from his conviction of "the Capt'n's" innocence.

"I know from his face that he would always fight fair. He never did it," was Barry's invariable statement at the close of every argument.

The coming of the frost in the garden lessened Barry's duties so that even with Lola's motor corps added to his responsibilities he found himself with more time on his hands than he liked. Mrs. Stewart still kept him supplied with books, but somehow Barry could

not concentrate upon them. He was impelled to action. He felt himself in the midst of a real drama, being enacted all around him, and for the time fictitious characters lost their power to interest. Richard was ever uppermost in his mind, and Barry found opportunity to discuss the case in some phase with nearly all the eyewitnesses.

Richard was not the only one in Norcross who suggested Tony Lemholtz's name in connection with the murder, and it was in Tony's direction that Barry mentally pointed the finger of suspicion. In fact, Lemholtz was made so uncomfortable by the unspoken charges that he would have left town except for the fact that he was held as a witness by the Grand Jury. As the State had not taken action against him, no one had the temerity to translate his suspicions into charges, but many of Tony's closest cronies dropped their former intimacy and awaited developments.

II

One afternoon, for lack of something better to do, Barry hobbled over to the Norton place, where he knew things had gone at sixes and sevens since the death of its master and the less personal attention of the administrators. Old Hannah was in charge, and she, Barry was well aware, would never listen to any word against "Mr. Richard." It was an opportunity to commune with a kindred spirit, and Barry craved reassurance after an argument with one of the townspeople who had personally tried, convicted, and executed the prisoner.

Hannah welcomed Barry with genuine delight, for she, poor soul, had little opportunity to keep in touch with the progress of affairs. "Mr. Richard" was still her "boy," and he was in trouble. Many a heartburn had she experienced in the great house on the Hill when the master made Richard suffer from his tyranny. She had been powerless to intervene then, as she was powerless now. She kept him supplied in jail with luscious mince and pumpkin pies, which had made his mouth. water ever since he was a small boy. While she baked them she recalled the time when she discovered the youthful Richard with half a pie in each hand, and chuckled to herself as she remembered how he averted her threatened scolding by saying archly, "If you don't want me to steal 'em, Hannah, you mustn't make 'em so good!"

This service to the boy was slight, but like the Juggler of Notre Dame, it was the best she had to give. and it satisfied her craving; but her heart yearned for news and for comforting assurances which could come only from one who agreed with her that Richard could do no wrong.

Hannah did not question the fact that Richard had fired the shot, but she considered the provocation given by the old man ample justification for the act.

"If you'd seen and heard what I have, Barry O'Carolan, you'd wonder that Mr. Richard hadn't done it before," she declared. "My poor boy . . . how that old man abused him!"

"The Capt'n never did it," Barry declared stoutly. "He might have got mad and punched his father in

the face, or cursed him out, or somethin' like that, but he'd never shoot any one without givin' him a chance. The Capt'n isn't that kind of a feller."

"But he admitted it was his revolver," Hannah exclaimed, surprised that there was any doubt as to the responsibility. "I was always scared of that revolver, every time I dusted the mantel-piece in the library. I used to look at it and think of the hundreds of Germans Mr. Richard must have shot with it, and it made me squirm."

"You needn't have been scared," Barry tried to reassure her. "It prob❜ly wasn't loaded."

"Oh, yes; it was. I spoke of it once when Mr. Treadway was cleaning it. He had it open, and I saw the part with the bullets in it. I used to wish Mr. Richard had taken it with him when he left home. It kept reminding me of him."

Barry sprang from his chair so suddenly that he nearly lost his balance.

"Didn't the Capt'n take that gun with him?”

"Oh, no; it lay here on the mantel-piece for two or three weeks after he went away. I wisht he had." "What became of it then?" Barry demanded excitedly.

"I never knew. P'raps Mr. Treadway sent it over to Mr. Richard. P'raps that's why he was cleaning it up."

"You stay right here, and don't you say anythin' to anybody 'til I get back," Barry cried, leaving Hannah aghast, in the belief that he had suddenly lost his reason.

III

Barry's wooden leg never made such rapid progress as when it covered the distance between the Norton place and Mr. Stewart's house. He was not sure just what this information he had gleaned might be worth, but his instinct told him it was valuable.

The Stewarts were in the library, discussing the ever-present subject when Barry arrived. With them was the most famous criminal lawyer the metropolis could supply. Mr. Stewart was determined that Richard should have the advantage of the highest legal defence, and the name of the counsel retained guaranteed full protection of his rights The lawyer had held conferences with the prisoner, and gone over the ground thoroughly with several of those who had witnessed the tragedy.

"Young Norton is of little use to us in the defence," the lawyer declared. "He does not sense the gravity of his position. It is all very well to have this supreme confidence, but his simple reiteration of his innocence won't go far with a jury."

"You have gained nothing from the others which could be made of value?" Stewart asked anxiously.

"Absolutely nothing. His best friends are doing what they can to convict him by emphasizing the provocation."

"I left word we were not to be disturbed," Mrs. Stewart explained quietly to the maid who appeared at the door.

"It's Barry, madam, who insists on seeing Miss