clock. Then came the deep tones of the hour.

Jimmy remembered now that when the clock had struck an hour before there had come the telephone message appraising the group of the death of Morris Miller.

The last stroke was still reverberating when the staccato jangling of the telephone bell drew a number of the old men to their feet. As if by a common impulse, as if they expected to get the answer to their spoken question through their eyes, every person on the deep porch, turned in the direction of the telephone. They looked as if they expected to see the dread message or messenger through the walls between them and the instrument.

The white-headed, grizzled negro came to the door. He spoke to
Justice Higginbotham:

"Fo' you, suh. Je'sey City callin'."

As Justice Higginbotham arose to answer the call, Antoine
Rochambeau spoke, his voice breaking to a faint croak:

"Jersey City is the home of Wrigley." The speaker was looking at Professor Brierly with burning eyes, a hectic flush flaming in his drawn cheeks. Professor Brierly looked at him sharply. He swiftly stepped to his side, laying his hand soothingly on his shoulder. The flush subsided, the man's tense body relaxed. He shook his head mumbling.

Fourteen pairs of eyes were looking toward the doorway as Justice Higginbotham once more returned, and came to an unconscious dramatic pause. He nodded, as if in confirmation of a statement.

"Wrigley was drowned yesterday noon at Bradley Beach, a seaside resort on the New Jersey coast about one mile south of Asbury Park."

While he was talking, Jimmy heard the squealing of brakes on the other side of the house. A motor car had come to a stop in front of the camp.

The eyes of the entire group turned in that direction. At Justice Higginbotham's announcement several of the men had stood up. They now dropped back into their seats. There was a long pause. To Jimmy it seemed that they all held their breath. The negro came to the door, in his hand a sheaf of telegrams. His eyes swept over the entire group.

He held them out to Justice Higginbotham who had stepped aside from the doorway to make way for him.

"Telegrams for you all. They didn't phone, suh, 'cause you done tole 'em not to phone no telegrams. De man am waitin' foh an ansuh."

Justice Higginbotham selected one of the telegrams and ripped open the flap. There was no change in his fine mobile features, but his eyes were fixed on the message for a long time. He was brought to himself by the negro.

"Am they any reply, Jedge?"

Justice Higginbotham, without raising his eyes from his message said, gently:

"No, Charley, no reply." Turing to the rest of the group he said, still gently: "My message is just the word 'fourteen,' that's all, just 'fourteen.' The other messages are probably—but you'd better look yourselves." He walked about the group and gave each of his ten associates one of the envelopes. He then held out his message to Professor Brierly. Jimmy saw the message. It bore the word, 'fourteen'; it had no signature.

Jimmy gripped the arms of his chair as he looked about the other men on the porch. There was a rustling and tearing of paper as flaps were ripped open. Some of them did it quickly, some of them held their envelopes for a short time before opening them.

When the rustling ceased, Thomas Marshall stood up. He said grimly to Professor Brierly:

"Here is your case, Professor, all complete. You've got it now with all the trimmings."