The startled eyes of Jack Cunningham leaped to the little man. There was in them dismay, almost panic. Then, swiftly, he recovered and drawled insolently, "I try to mind my own business. Do you?" The coroner asserted himself. "Here, here, none of that! Order in this court, _if_ you please, gentlemen." He bustled in his manner, turning to the attorney. "Through with Mr. Cunningham, Johns? If so, we'll push on." "Quite." The prosecuting attorney consulted a list in front of him. "Cass Hull next." Hull came puffing to the stand. He was a porpoise of a man. His eyes dodged about the room in dread. It was as though he were looking for a way of escape. CHAPTER XII "THAT'S THE MAN" "Your name?" "Cass Hull." "Business?" "Real estate, mostly farm lands." "Did you know James Cunningham, the deceased?" asked Johns. "Yes. Worked with him on the Dry Valley proposition, an irrigation project." "Ever have any trouble with him?" "No, sir--not to say trouble." Hull was already perspiring profusely. He dragged a red bandanna from his pocket and mopped the roll of fat that swelled over his collar. "I--we had a--an argument about a settlement--nothin' serious." "Did he throw you out of his room and down the stairs?" "No, sir, nothin' like that a-tall. We might 'a' scuffled some, kinda in fun like. Prob'ly it looked like we was fightin', but we wasn't. My heel caught on a tread o' the stairs an' I fell down." Hull made his explanation eagerly and anxiously, dabbing at his beefy face with the handkerchief. "When did you last see Mr. Cunningham alive?" "Well, sir, that was the last time, though I reckon we heard him pass our door." In answer to questions the witness explained that Cunningham had owed him, in his opinion, four thousand dollars more than he had paid. It was about this sum they had differed. "Were you at home on the evening of the twenty-third--that is, last night?" The witness flung out more signals of distress. "Yes, sir," he said at last in a voice dry as a whisper. "Will you tell what, if anything, occurred?" "Well, sir, a man knocked at our door. The woman she opened it, an' he asked which flat was Cunningham's. She told him, an' the man he started up the stairs." "Have you seen the man since?" "No, sir." "Didn't hear him come downstairs later?" "No, sir." "At what time did this man knock?" asked the lawyer from the district attorney's office. Kirby Lane did not move a muscle of his body, but excitement grew in him, as he waited, eyes narrowed, for the answer. "At 9.20." "How do you know the time so exactly?" "Well, sir, I was windin' the clock for the night." "Sure your clock was right?" "Yes, sir. I happened to check up on it when the court-house clock struck nine. Mebbe it was half a minute off, as you might say." "Describe the man." Hull did, with more or less accuracy. "Would you know him if you saw him again?" "Yes, sir, I sure would."