he, Blalock? You had him summoned, I believe."
The physician nodded.
"I confess it was as much from personal interest in the man as from any hope that he might give valuable evidence here," he said. "He surprised me with his outburst. He is a clever talker. Ellis is his name—Martin Ellis—and he comes of a splendid and well-to-do family. University graduate and quite capable of having carved out a wonderful career. But he was idolized at home and given more money than was good for him. It made him an idler and a young ne'er-do-well. But whatever he did he did openly, and I never heard of anything seriously wrong until he was convicted of the crime which brought him here."
"Murder, I suppose?" Stevenson, the chairman, was interested in spite of himself. "He spoke of being in for life."
"Yes; killing a girl. Agnes Keller was her name. Poor, but well thought of. Church worker, member of the choir and so on. It was brought out at the trial—in fact, Ellis told it himself—that he was infatuated with her and they were together a great deal. Not openly, of course, because old man Ellis, his father, would have pawed up the earth. The affair ended like all these clandestine affairs, specially if the girl is young and pretty and poor. It was the theory of a prosecution that when she discovered her condition she became frantic and demanded that Ellis marry her, the alternative being that she would go to his father with the story. It was charged that he killed her to avoid making a choice. The evidence against him was purely circumstantial, but the jury held it was conclusive.
"Ellis admitted on the stand that they often went riding in his motor-car at night. One damning fact against him was that he was seen driving, alone and rapidly, along the country lane near where her body was found. He had nothing to back up his claim that he felt ill and went for a drive in an effort to relieve a sick headache. Of course he denied absolutely that he was responsible for her condition, or that he even knew of it, but the jury was out less than an hour. The only hitch, I learned later, was whether to affix the death penalty or not."
"He said you were a witness against him. What part did you play?" asked Stevenson.
"An unwilling one," answered Blalock, quickly. "I did not believe that Ellis was guilty then. I am not convinced of it now. But as the girl's physician, and presumably one of those to whom she would go in her trouble, I was questioned as soon as the coroner had held an autopsy. I admitted that she had confided in me and that I had agreed that the man responsible should marry her. She did not tell me his name, but my evidence added weight to the theory that Ellis killed her to avoid marrying her."
The door to the room swung open and the warden stood on the threshold.
"May I come in?" he asked. "Dinner is almost ready and I thought I had better give you warning."
He crossed to an empty chair and sat down.
"We concluded the taking of evidence quite a little while ago," said the chairman. "Since then Dr. Blalock has been entertaining us with the story of the crime of that fellow Martin Ellis, who was one of the witnesses. Quite unusual."
"Yes, the sheriff who brought him here told me all about it," answered the warden. "He's hard to handle. Had trouble with one of the guards a while back and we had to discipline him."
"Two days in the solitary cell on bread and water, wasn't it?" asked Blalock. "He didn't have any good word for it."
The warden flushed.
"Few of those who taste of it do," he admitted. "Too much a matter of being left alone with your thoughts and your conscience. They'll punish you as much as anything can do. Well, supposed you take an adjournment and come
