A few minutes later he found himself back at the entrance to the hotel,
and the porter saluted him respectfully. Judge Bolitho had often
spoken to this man in a friendly sort of way, and the man was proud of
his notice.

"A dark, dreary night, my lord?"

"Yes; a dark, dreary night," repeated the judge.

He found his way to the suite of rooms which he had engaged, and as he
divested himself of the heavy ulster he had worn he planned a kind of
programme for the night. He had no thought of going to bed. During
his early days at the Bar, whenever a complicated case presented itself
to him, he had always written out a kind of resume, or synopsis of the
whole situation, so as to have everything clear before his mind. After
that he had been able to classify and to arrange with precision and
accuracy. He made up his mind to do this now. But on entering the
room where he intended to work he was startled to find that his
daughter Mary was awaiting him.

"Not in bed, Mary?" he said. "It's very late!"

"No, father. I've been waiting for you."

"Why?" he asked; and there was something almost suspicious in his
voice. He had a kind of feeling that his daughter knew something of
where he had been that night.

"I could not go to bed," said the girl.

"But why, my child? By the way, did you go to the Gordons? I was glad
when I heard that they had asked you, because I had to attend a dinner,
and I did not like the idea of your being alone."

"No; I did not go to the Gordons'," she replied.

"What have you been doing, then?"

"I have been sitting alone all the evening, part of the time in my
bedroom, part of it here."

"What have you been doing?"

"Thinking. Father, I was at the trial to-day."

"I am very sorry," he replied. "Such places are not for you."

"Why? There was no one so interested as I."

"Of course you are naturally interested in the murder of Ned Wilson,"
he replied. "All the same, it is unhealthy and morbid, this desire to
be present at murder trials. But good-night, Mary. I want to be
alone. I have a great deal to do."

"Not yet, father," she said. "I want to talk with you about this
trial. Of course you do not believe him guilty?"

"Why not?"

Somehow the presence of his daughter had made him cool and collected
again, and he had a kind of instinctive feeling that she must be kept
in the dark concerning what had happened. He was so far able to
control himself, too, that he spoke