“I--I don’t think I did,” he stammered. “Most of the time I’m sure I didn’t; I was sure of it when the officers started to take me, and told ’em so. But there is a queer thing about it that I can’t understand. I told you that I grabbed the pistol in the dark, and that somebody snatched it from me just as the shot was fired. That’s true, and I’d swear to it if I stood on the gallows. But when the thing was done, I found that pistol in my hand just as if I’d never let go of it, and I threw it on the floor as if it had been hot and burned me.” “But surely you can remember whether you fired it or not!” “It seems as if I’d ought to, but I can’t. I was stunned and scared up and crazy mad all in one breath, and the whole thing happened before you could swallow twice. I’m glad I don’t have to remember.” “Don’t have to remember? What do you mean?” “Why, Brant settled it when he gave himself up, didn’t he? And yet, if he hadn’t done that, I’d have been ready to swear that he didn’t fire the pistol, either.” The judge shook his head despairingly. “This uncertainty of yours is simply maddening, William. If you know you didn’t fire the shot yourself, why do you think Brant didn’t fire it?” “Because the noise didn’t seem near enough, and I didn’t see any flash. The room was dark, y’know, and rattled as I was I’d ought to have seen it if it had been fired as close to me as that.” The judge shook his head again, and began to pace the floor in a fresh access of grief and humiliation. But the exigencies of the case presently asserted themselves. “I believe you have told me the truth, or that you have tried to tell it. But you must pull yourself together and get the facts in the shape of a consistent story. You will be put upon the witness stand, and Brant’s life may depend upon your testimony.” The clang of the front-door bell broke in upon them, and the painful interview was at an end. The caller was an officer, come to summon William Langford as a witness in the preliminary examination, which was set for ten o’clock. The judge groaned inwardly at this fresh proof of the relentless march of publicity and disgrace, but he got his hat and coat and went with his son. There were no new developments in the courtroom. William Langford told his story more coherently than the judge had believed it could be told; and, in accordance with his expressed determination, Brant refused counsel and maintained a stubborn silence. Hence the magistrate, having no alternative, ordered a plea of “Not guilty” to be entered for him, remanded him to jail, and fixed his bail at the sum of ten thousand dollars. Forsyth and Antrim were both present at the preliminary examination, and after it was over the latter introduced Judge Langford and the editor. True to his promise to befriend Brant in the time of need, the judge immediately offered to procure bondsmen, but Forsyth shook his head.