Mr. Simpkins turned hastily to Mr. Hogan, who realized that things were going badly.

“Your Honor,” he interposed thickly, “this money was an agreed fee for my services as counsel.  This examination seems to me somewhat uncalled for and unfair.”

“Call Tony Mathusek to the bar!” suddenly ordered the judge.

It was a dangerous play, but Hogan decided to bluff it through.

“In view of the fact that I have not received my fee I shall refuse to appear for the defendant!” he announced brazenly.

“Indeed!” retorted the judge with sarcasm.  “Then I will assign Mr. Ephraim Tutt to the defense.  You two gentlemen will please sit down—­but not leave the courtroom.  We may need you.”

At that moment, just as the defendant was led to the bar, Mr. Tutt emerged from behind the jury box and took his stand at Tony’s side.  Nothing much to look at before, the boy was less so now, with the prison pallor on his sunken little face.  There was something about the thin neck, the half-open mouth and the gaunt, blinking, hollow eyes that suggested those of a helpless fledgling.

“Impanel a jury!” continued the judge, and Mr. Tutt conducted Tony inside the rail and sat down beside him at the table reserved for the defendant.

“It’s all right, Tony!” he whispered.  “The frame-up isn’t on you this time, my lad.”

Cowering in the back of the room Delany tried to hide himself among the spectators.  Some devilish thing had gone wrong.  He hadn’t heard all that had passed between the judge and Hogan, but he had caught enough to perceive that the whole case had gone blooey.

Judge Watkins was wise!  He was going after Hogan just as old Tutt would go after him, Delany.  There was a singing in his head and the blood smarted in his eyes.  He’d better beat it!  Half bent over he started sneaking for the door.

“Who is that man trying to go out?” shouted the judge in terrifying tones that shook Delany to the ankles.  Hastily he tried to sit down.

“Bring that man to the bar!”

Half blind with fear Delany attempted to make a show of bravado and swagger to the rail.

“What is your name?”

“Delany.  Officer attached to the Second Precinct.”

“What were you leaving the room for?”

Delany could not answer.  His wits were befogged, his throat numb.  He simply stared vacuously at Judge Watkins, his lips vibrating with fear.

“Sit down.  No; take the stand!” cried Judge Watkins.  “I’ll try this case myself.”

As if his foot were already attached to a ball and chain Delany dragged himself up—­up—­hundreds of feet up, it seemed—­to the witness chair.  As if from a mountain side he saw dim forms moving into the jury box, heard the judge and Mr. Tutt exchanging meaningless remarks.  The faces before him grinned and gibbered at him like a horde of monkeys.  They had got him at last—­all for a few pieces