“Who by?” “My rivals in business.” “Dean wouldn’t do that.” “A boy who would feign honesty and friendship, and betray a trust, and rob a benefactor, would do anything evil,” replied Judge Oglesby bitterly. “We have simply been deceived, and at a terrible cost.” “A terrible cost, indeed,” sighed Montague. “I am comparatively a poor man and the loss of the thousand dollars will fall heavily upon me. Dear! dear! what is the world coming to?” Yes, Judge Oglesby had lost, but he could afford it. As to Montague, the missing thousand dollars and the papers meant beggary. Certainly a severe blow to his prospects. The money represented all that was possessed by Robert Ellison, a man who had reposed the most implicit confidence in him. It was a strange and mysterious case. He was charged with killing his uncle, a miserly relative, who had led a lonely life back in the hills, and circumstances almost proved his guilt. Ellison had just returned from a two years’ sojourn to far Western mines. He had left his son, Marcus, in charge of his uncle. When he returned he had accumulated a little over a thousand dollars. This he intended to invest in some little business, and take his son in with him. To his surprise, when he went to his uncle, James Conroyd, for his boy, he found Conroyd in the worst possible humor. The latter stated that he had tired of caring for Marcus Ellison, and had sent him adrift. “Why?” asked the amazed Ellison. “Because I did not hear from you.” “I wrote you and sent money for his care.” “I never got your letters!” snapped the ill-natured Conroyd. There was an angry interview, for Ellison was provoked at Conroyd’s heartlessness. The crabbed, irritable nature of the latter became more and more resentful, as Ellison charged him with heartlessness. They had a fierce quarrel, and Conroyd ordered Ellison out of his house, and Ellison, wild with rage, vowed to “get even” with him. That night, from Millville, he wrote his uncle that unless he put him on the track of his missing boy he would make him trouble. That night James Conroyd was found shot dead near his cabin. The next day a pistol that Ellison had brought from the West with him was discovered among some bushes near the house. One chamber was empty. The missing bullet was found in James Conroyd’s heart. Of course Ellison was at once arrested. Conroyd’s hired man, a surly, low-browed being named Manseur, swore that he had seen Ellison lurking around the cabin. The threatening letter that Ellison had written was also found. People remembered his threats. In jail Ellison sent for Lawyer Montague, an old-time friend, and told him the truth. He was innocent. Montague believed him. Ellison gave the lawyer his money, and engaged him to clear him from the crime imputed to him. He was taken to the jail at Springfield. Public opinion was against him, but the shrewd Montague began to work up clue after clue toward proving his innocence.