Martinez again lifted the head and darted glances over the dead man's breast. There were no wounds, but on the shriveled brown throat he saw what might have been a thumb-mark. He could not be sure, yet that was his guess. "He was an old man," Miguel remarked. "Yes. You should notify his son and also the undertaker, so the body can be taken care of. I'll telephone the latter too when I reach my office." This Martinez did, informing Saurez's family that the old man had died while apparently asleep at Vorse's, and expressed his sympathy and sorrow. One feature of the case he instantly perceived; he was released from any obligation to keep silent regarding the old man's declaration. Fortunate was he to have obtained it before Vorse had got wind of his purpose. At the thought of Vorse he arose and locked both front and back doors of the building, pulled down the window shades and turned out the light. It was almost dark by now. In the darkness he felt safer. Any one passing would suppose him away. Perhaps he should spend the night elsewhere--at the dam, for instance. Again the same shudder shook his frame that he had experienced on seeing the mark on Saurez' throat. Vorse had killed the old Mexican, of that he was convinced. With his tongue made garrulous by brandy and by the presence of his old employer the old man had doubtless related everything that occurred between him and Martinez; and the vulture-like, bald-headed saloon-keeper, recognizing that he had been unconsciously betrayed had immediately acted to close this witness' lips forever against a second utterance. Martinez himself was in danger. The perspiration dampened his face as he realized that as far as he was concerned the die was cast. He must fling in his fortunes with Weir to the utmost. He would first stand in defense on his right as a lawyer to secure evidence for a client, but if this failed--and what rights would Vorse halt for?--he must depend upon the paper. Once they had that, they would speedily put him out of the way as they had done Saurez. But if they had it not, they would at least hesitate to wreak their vengeance until they could get it into their possession. He must place it in Weir's hands at once, then if questioned refuse to inform them of its whereabouts. Perhaps they would try to seize it some time this night. He stood up, lighted the lamp, saw that all was well in the office and took his hat. A peremptory knock sounded on the door of the rear room. "Open up there, Martinez," a voice commanded. He stole thither, listened. "Who is it?" he asked. "Never mind. Open this door or I'll pull it down," came in hoarse tones he recognized as Burkhardt's. The man, or men, outside had chosen the rear to force an entrance if necessary, where there would be no spectators. "Jerk it open quick," Burkhardt continued savagely. "We want you." Then again, "We knew you were there, though you kept the place dark. Move lively before I use this ax."