ness who could conclusively prove this perjury, but only he, Sanders, knew his name or where to find him. Place him on the stand, and the world would know to what inexcusable lengths Sanders had gone to save his client. The last shred of sympathy for him would be gone. But only Sanders could locate this witness, and he was dead.
As from the dim and remote past he recalled the gloating words of the district attorney, Roberts: "There will be one murderer you won't get off, and that will be your own!" And Jason Sanders would gladly have sacrificed all his famous courtroom triumphs if only he could gain the acquittal of Costello, his murderer.
This, he reflected bitterly, would be a very simple thing to do—if he were alive. But he lay shackled by death, powerless to use the knowledge at his command. Mechanically he planned the conduct of the case for the defense. He marshaled his facts, formulated his questions, summoned witnesses available only to himself. At length the horrible irony of the situation weighed unendurably upon him and caused him to end this futile planning.
If only he could somehow communicate with Billy Williams, give him a few names and addresses! Given this information, Williams' whole case would unfold of itself and lie snugly in his lap. . . . The telephone close by. If only
Then it happened, quickly and without warning. Sanders was quite unprepared. It seemed that the chains which had held him were smashed into bits. He bounded from the table, staggered on his feet. His eyes burst open, stared at the telephone on the wall. Without an instant's hesitancy he lunged forward and clasped the mouthpiece of the phone. Impelled by one fixed idea, he jerked the receiver from the hook, began frantically to dial.
Doctor asman stared at Billy Williams with perplexity.
"I'm sure you must be mistaken. Gowans and I have been right beside this phone for the last three-quarters of an hour. I assure you that we haven't once touched it. And no one has been inside this office except ourselves."
Williams shrugged. "But I tell you I had the call traced. Whoever called left the receiver off the hook, and tracing was easy. They told me at the exchange that the call was made at the city morgue."
Both Asman and Gowans gave Williams a deprecating look.
"After all, was the call so important?"
"I don't know yet. Whoever called gave me a whole list of names and addresses. I took them down just in case. I'd just been hired to defend Costello, you know, and I had a hunch this had something to do with it."
"You didn't recognize the voice?"
"No. Never heard a voice even remotely like it."
The three men sat silently, puzzled. Gowans suddenly looked up at his superior.
"Say, what about that phone in the receiving-room?"
Asman cut him off short. "Nonsense. I've had my eye on that room ever since we left it. I've been on the lookout for the undertaker."
Williams looked interested. "Is that the only other phone in the place?"
Both Asman and Gowans nodded. The next instant they froze in their chairs as a horrible, weird wailing sounded throughout the morgue. Williams bounded to his feet.
"My God! What's that?"
Asman and Gowans rose shakily. The wailing, which continued as loud and as terrifying as ever, came from the receiving-room.
