“But, Your Honor,” returned Hogan with pathos, “the witnesses are very hard to find.  They are working people.  I have spent whole evenings chasing after them.  Moreover, the defendant is perfectly satisfied to have the case go over.  He is anxious for an adjournment!”

“When did you last see him?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

The judge unfolded the papers and appeared to be reading them for the first time.  He wasn’t such a bad old actor himself, for he had already learned from Mr. Tutt that Hogan had not been near Tony for three weeks.

“Um—­um!  Did you represent the defendant in the police court?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Why did you waive examination?”

Hogan suddenly felt a lump swelling in his pharynx.  What in hell was it all about?

“I—­er—­there was no use in fighting the case there.  I hoped the grand jury would throw it out,” he stammered.

“Did anybody ask you to waive examination?”

The swelling in Hogan’s fat neck grew larger.  Suppose McGurk or Delany were trying to put something over on him!

“No!  Certainly not!” he replied unconvincingly.  He didn’t want to make the wrong answer if he could help it.

“You have an—­associate, have you not?  A Mr. Simpkins?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”  Hogan was pale now and little beads were gathering over his eyebrows.

“Where is he?”

“Downstairs in the magistrate’s court.”

“Officer,” ordered the judge, “send for Mr. Simpkins.  We will suspend until he can get here.”

Then His Honor occupied himself with some papers, leaving Hogan standing alone at the bar trying to work out what it all meant.  He began to wish he had never touched the damn case.  Everybody in the courtroom seemed to be looking at him and whispering.  He was most uncomfortable.  Suppose that crooked cop had welshed on him!  At the same instant in the back of the room a similar thought flashed through the mind of Delany.  Suppose Hogan should welsh on him!  Coincidentally both scoundrels turned sick at heart.  Then came to each the simultaneous realization that neither could gain anything by giving the other away, and that the only thing possible for either was to stand pat.  No, they must hang together or assuredly hang separately.  Then the door opened and a tall officer entered, followed by a very nervous Mr. Joey Simpkins.

“Come up here!” directed the judge.  “You are Mr. Hogan’s assistant, are you not?”

“Yes, sir!” quavered the anxious Simpkins.

“How much money have you taken from Mrs. Mathusek?”

“Four hundred and thirty-five dollars.”

“For what?” sharply.

“For protecting her son.”

“Where?  How?”

“Why—­from his arrest to the present time—­and for his defense here in General Sessions.”

“Have either you or Mr. Hogan done anything as yet—­except to waive examination in the police court?”