Three men were in the Dawson jail, awaiting a jury for the murder of a newspaper reporter who worked for Dave Carson. Two of the men were killers, with bearded, weather beaten faces. The third was more polished. His hands were soft, and his face smooth. Until recently he had worked as a clerk in Arnold Blenheim's bank. His name was Slade. He stood close to the barred door, his crafty eyes fixed on a fat, pompous looking man who was talking to the constable at the end of the corridor.