“And now, your honor, I will call to the witness-stand a young man of stainless life, whom the government has held as a witness since the brutal assault was committed.  He is in the custody of the sheriff of the county, Isaac Masters!”

All eyes turned to the door at the left of the bench.  There was a bustle of expectancy, and a pallor upon the face of Tom Muldoon.

“Isaac Masters!” repeated the attorney impatiently.  “Will the court officer produce the witness?”

The judge rapped his pencil on the desk in a nervous tattoo.  Above all things he detested delay.

“I hope Your Honor will grant me a few moments,” said the attorney, annoyed.  “The witness must surely be here directly.”

“It can go over—­” began the judge indulgently, when he was interrupted by the entrance of the sheriff of the county himself.  This man beckoned to the district attorney, and the two whispered together with the appearance of great excitement.

“Well?” said the judge, yawning.  “Produce your witness.”

But the attorney for the government came back to his place slowly, with head bent.  He was very pale, and evidently much shaken.  The saloon-keeper’s face expanded with hope, as he leaned aside and whispered to a friendly wardman.

What was the evidence?  Where was the witness?  Silent?  Why?  The question flashed from face to face in the court-room.  Had he escaped?  Or been spirited away?  Such things had been known to happen.  Or had he become insane during his incarceration?  Such things had been known to happen, too.  Gentlemen of the law!  Gentlemen of the jury!  Sheriff of the county!  Judge of the Superior Court!  Where is the witness?  We demand him on penalty of contempt.  Contempt of your Honorable Court?  Contempt of court!

What?  Is he not here?  After all this cost to the State, and to the man?  Why has he not met his enforced appointment?  If not here, why was the innocent witness suffocated behind bars and walls, while the murderer was free to dispense rum?

“Your Honor,” began the attorney, with white lips, “a most unfortunate occurrence has happened, one that the government truly deplores.  The witness has been suddenly called away.  In fact, Your Honor—­hem!—­in short, I have been informed by the sheriff that the witness cannot answer to the summons of the court.  He is disqualified from subpoena.  In fact, Your Honor, the witness died this morning.”

The lawyer took out his handkerchief ostentatiously.  He then bent to his papers with shaking hands.  He looked them over carefully while the court held its breath.

“As the government is not in possession of any evidence against Muldoon, I move to nolle prosequi the case.”

“It is granted,” said the judge, with a keen glance at the bloated prisoner, whom wardmen and officers of the law were already congratulating profusely.

“Order!” continued the judge.  “Prisoner, stand up!  You are allowed to go upon your own recognizance in the sum of two hundred and fifty dollars.”