his friend, tall Medallion the auctioneer, who laid a strong hand on his
arm and said, "Steady, Turgeon, steady!" and he had yielded to the firm
friendly pressure.

Medallion had left no stone unturned to clear him at the trial, had
himself played detective unceasingly. But the hard facts remained, and
on a chain of circumstantial evidence Blaze Turgeon was convicted of
manslaughter and sent to prison for ten years. Blaze himself had said
that he did not remember, but he could not believe that he had committed
the crime. Robbery? He shrugged his shoulders at that, he insisted that
his lawyer should not reply to the foolish and insulting suggestion. But
the evidence went to show that Gamache had all the winnings when the
other members of the party retired, and this very money had been found in
Blaze's pocket. There was only Blaze's word that they had played cards
again. Anger? Possibly. Blaze could not recall, though he knew they
had quarrelled. The judge himself, charging the jury, said that he never
before had seen a prisoner so frank, so outwardly honest, but he warned
them that they must not lose sight of the crime itself, the taking of a
human life, whereby a woman was made a widow and a child fatherless. The
jury found him guilty.

With few remarks the judge delivered his sentence, and then himself,
shaken and pale, left the court-room hurriedly, for Blaze Turgeon's
father had been his friend from boyhood.

Blaze took his sentence calmly, looking the jury squarely in the eyes,
and when the judge stopped, he bowed to him, and then turned to the jury
and said:

"Gentlemen, you have ruined my life. You don't know, and I don't know,