Saurez much gratified at these words and at everything went out slowly, for he was troubled by rheumatism. The instant his back disappeared Martinez sprang to the table, swiftly filled out the acknowledgment of the old man's signature to the Weir document, clapped the page under the seal and pressed home the stamp. Then pushing the folded statement into an envelope and that into his pocket, he leaned back with a sigh of exhaustion. The thing was accomplished at last, but the strain had been great. Weir's command to secure evidence had been obeyed. Only the promise to await Saurez' death, troubled Martinez, and with a convenient sophistry he decided that an agreement not to print the narrative in a book did not extend to using it in court. Weir would be delighted--it was a famous coup. How long Martinez sat reveling in this well-earned satisfaction he was unaware, until with a start he glanced at his watch. Three-quarters of an hour had passed. He went out to look for Saurez. But he was not in sight and though several persons had seen him they could not say where he had gone. Martinez went again into his office. When another half-hour had drifted by he decided the old man had encountered friends and either caught a ride home or gone with one to supper. So Martinez proceeded to his own meal. Yet he was pervaded by an unaccountable uneasiness. The sun had set in a bank of clouds and night was not far off. He made another search for the old Mexican, inquiring here and there, until he was informed by one that he had seen Saurez in Vorse's saloon talking with Vorse and sipping a glass of brandy. That was half an hour before. A chill of fear spread over the lawyer's skin. Determined, however, to learn the worst, he stole to the saloon and peered over the slatted door. The Mexican bar-keeper was wiping a glass; Vorse was not in sight; and--ha! there was Saurez himself drowsing by a table. Martinez slipped in and made his way to the rear. "Come; time to go home," he said softly, giving the old Mexican's shoulder a shake. This did not arouse the sleeper, so he added force to his hand, at which the other sagged forward limply. Martinez jumped back. Next he stood quite still, staring. Then he approached and lifting the drooping head, gazed at the wrinkled face and glazed eyes. "Miguel, come here!" he exclaimed, anxiously. "Saurez is dead." "Dead!" The bar-keeper ran to the spot, eyes large with alarm and excitement. "Dios, I thought him asleep! See, there is the glass in which I gave him brandy at Señor Vorse's order. The old one said he had come in to pay a little visit to his old employer and have a chat. They talked for some time." "Was Vorse asking him questions?" "Yes. I think Saurez was telling him how he happened to be in town. I paid little attention to them, however. After a while I glanced up and saw Vorse standing by him. They were not talking. Then Vorse came away and said the old man had fallen asleep, and he went out to supper."