The justice paused, then extended a long, lean accusatory finger out from the rostrum at the gangster.  “Rubano,” he concluded, “your crime is particularly heinous—­debauching the very foundations of the state—­the elections.  I sentence you to not less than three nor more than five years in State’s prison, at hard labour.”

There was an audible gasp in the big courtroom, as the judge snapped shut his square jaw, bull-dog fashion.  It was as though he had snapped the backbone of the System.

The prisoner was hurried from the room before there was a chance for a demonstration.  It was unnecessary, however.  It seemed as if all the jaunty bravado of the underworld was gone out of it.  Slowly the crowd filed out, whispering.

Dopey Jack, Murtha’s right-hand man, had been sentenced to State’s prison!

Outside the courtroom Carton received an ovation.  As quickly as he could, he escaped from the newspapermen, and Kennedy was the first to grasp his hand.

But the most pleasing congratulation came from Miss Ashton, who had dropped in with two or three friends from the Reform League.

“I’m so glad, Mr. Carton—­for your sake,” she added very prettily, with just a trace of heightened colour in her cheeks and eyes that showed her sincere pleasure at the outcome of the case.  “And then, too,” she went on, “it may have some bearing on the case of that girl who has disappeared.  So far, no one seems to have been able to find a trace of her.  She just seems to have dropped out as if she had been spirited away.”

“We must find her,” returned Carton, thanking her for her good wishes in a manner which he had done to none of the rest of us, and in fact forgetful now that any of us were about.  “I shall start right in on Dopey Jack to see if I can get anything out of him, although I don’t think he is one that will prove a squealer in any way.  I hope we can have something to report soon.”

Others were pressing around him and Miss Ashton moved away, although I thought his handshakes were perhaps a little less cordial after she had gone.

I turned once to survey the crowd and down the gallery, near a pillar I saw Langhorne, his eyes turned fixedly in our direction, and a deep scowl on his face.  Evidently he had no relish for the proceedings, at least that part in which Carton had just figured, whatever his personal feelings may have been toward the culprit.  A moment later he saw me looking at him, turned abruptly and walked toward the stone staircase that led down to the main floor.  But I could not get that scowl out of my mind as I watched his tall, erect figure stalking away.

Neither Murtha, nor, of course, Dorgan, were there, though I knew that they had many emissaries present who would report to them every detail of what had happened, down perhaps to the congratulations of Miss Ashton.  Somehow, I could not get out of my head a feeling that she would afford them, in some way, a point of attack on Carton and that the unscrupulous organization would stop at nothing in order to save its own life and ruin his.