s brought in. It has since occurred to me that I should like
you to understand exactly what you have done, the responsibility you
have incurred."

Ledsam raised his eyebrows.

"Responsibility?" he repeated. "What I have done is simple enough. I
have earned a very large fee and won my case."

"You have secured the acquittal of Oliver Hilditch," she persisted.
"He is by this time a free man. Now I am going to speak to you of that
responsibility. I am going to tell you a little about the man who owes
his freedom to your eloquence."

It was exactly twenty minutes after their entrance into the teashop when
the woman finished her monologue. She began to draw on her gloves again.
Before them were two untasted cups of tea and an untouched plate of
bread and butter. From a corner of the room the waitress was watching
them curiously.

"Good God!" Francis Ledsam exclaimed at last, suddenly realising his
whereabouts. "Do you mean to affirm solemnly that what you have been
telling me is the truth?"

The woman continued to button her gloves. "It is the truth," she said.

Ledsam sat up and looked around him. He was a little dazed. He had
almost the feeling of a man recovering from the influence of some
anaesthetic. Before his eyes were still passing visions of terrible
deeds, of naked, ugly passion, of man's unscrupulous savagery. During
those few minutes he had been transported to New York and Paris, London
and Rome. Crimes had been spoken of which made the murder for which
Oliver Hilditch had just been tried seem like a trifling indiscretion.
Hard though his mentality, sternly matter-of-fact as was his outlook,
he was still unable to fully believe in himself, his surroundings, or
in this woman who had just dropped a veil over her ashen cheeks. Reason
persisted in asserting itself.

"But if you knew all this," he demanded, "why on earth didn't you come
forward and give evidence?"

"Because," she answered calmly, as she rose to her feet, "my evidence
would not have been admissible. I am Oliver Hilditch's wife."

CHAPTER II

Francis Ledsam arrived at his club, the Sheridan, an hour later than he
had anticipated. He nodded to the veteran hall-porter, hung up his hat
and stick, and climbed the great staircase to the card-room without any
distinct recollection of performing any of these simple and reasonable
actions. In the cardroom he exchanged a few greetings with friends,
accepted without comment or without the sl