and desertion.
It does without question appear that the defence, in aspiring to rebut
this last charge, have really admitted the next. Either Innocent Smith
is still under a charge of attempted burglary, or else that is exploded;
but he is pretty well fixed for attempted bigamy. It all depends on
what view we take of the alleged letter from Curate Percy. Under these
conditions I feel justified in claiming my right to questions.
May I ask how the defence got hold of the letter from Curate Percy? Did it
come direct from the prisoner?"

"We have had nothing direct from the prisoner," said Moon quietly.
"The few documents which the defence guarantees came to us
from another quarter."

"From what quarter?" asked Dr. Pym.

"If you insist," answered Moon, "we had them from Miss Gray.

"Dr. Cyrus Pym quite forgot to close his eyes, and, instead,
opened them very wide.

"Do you really mean to say," he said, "that Miss Gray was in possession
of this document testifying to a previous Mrs. Smith?"

"Quite so," said Inglewood, and sat down.

The doctor said something about infatuation in a low and painful voice,
and then with visible difficulty continued his opening remarks.

"Unfortunately the tragic truth revealed by Curate Percy's narrative
is only too crushingly confirmed by other and shocking documents
in our own possession. Of these the principal and most certain is
the testimony of Innocent Smith's gardener, who was present at the most
dramatic and eye-opening of his many acts of marital infidelity.
Mr. Gould, the gardener, please."

Mr. Gould, with his tireless cheerfulness, arose to present the gardener.
That functionary explained that he had served Mr. and Mrs. Innocent Smith
when they had a little house on the edge of Croydon.
From the gardener's tale, with its many small allusions, Inglewood grew
certain he had seen the place. It was one of those corners of town
or country that one does not forget, for it looked like a frontier.
The garden hung very high above the lane, and its end was steep
and sharp, like a fortress. Beyond was a roll of real country,
with a white path sprawling across it, and the roots, boles, and branches
of great gray trees writhing and twisting against the sky.
But as if to assert that the lane itself was suburban,
were sharply relieved against that gray and tossing upland
a lamp-post painted a peculiar yellow-green and a red pillar-box
that stood exactly at the corner. Inglewo