en minutes is the time
allowed a prisoner, and--and--I'm afeared the young leddy must go. It
'urts me to tell you, sir, but--you'll understand. Dooty is dooty."

"Yes, doubtless, Bennett, though some people's idea of it is different
from others'," returned Merriton, with a bleak smile. "Have no fear,
'Toinette. There is still plenty of time, and I shall engage the
finest counsel in the land to stand for me. This knot shall be broken
somehow, this tissue of lies must have a flaw somewhere. And nowadays
circumstantial evidence, you know, doesn't hold too much water in a court
of law. God bless you, little 'Toinette."

She clung to him a moment, her face suddenly lightening at the tenor of
his words--so bravely spoken, with so little conviction behind them. But
they had helped her, and for that he was glad.

When she had gone, he sat down on the edge of his narrow bed and dropped
his face in the cup of his hands. How hopeless it seemed. What chance had
he of a future now--with Cleek against him? Cleek the unraveller of a
thousand riddles that had puzzled the cleverest brains in the universe!
Cleek would never admit to having made a blunder this time--though there
was a sort of grim satisfaction in the knowledge that he _had_ blundered,
though he himself was the victim.

... He sat there for a long time, thinking, his brain wearied, his heart
like lead. Bennett's heavily-booted feet upon the stone floor brought him
back again to realities.

"There's another visitor, sir," said he. "A gentleman. Seen 'im up at the
Towers, I 'ave. Name of West, sir. Constable Roberts says as 'ow you may
see him."

How kind of the constable, thought Nigel bitterly. His mouth twisted into
a wry smile. Then his eyes lightened suddenly. Tony West, eh? So all the
rats hadn't deserted the sinking ship, after all. There were still the
old doctor, who came, cheering him up with kind words, bringing him books
that he thought he could read--as though a man _could_ read books, under
such circumstances--and now Tony West--good old West!

West strode in, his five-feet-three of manhood looking as though it were
ready to throw the jailer's six-feet-one out of the window upon request,
and seized Nigel's hand, wringing it furiously.

"Good old Nigel! Gad! but it's fine to see you. And what fool put you in
this idiotic predicament? Wring his damned neck, I would. How are you,
old sport?"

Under such light badinage did West try to conceal his real fee