ew that he would consider this case impartially on the
evidence given. Young Edward Wilson was murdered, there could be no
doubt about that, and all the evidence pointed to Paul Stepaside.

When he reached the street he got into a cab, and was driven to his
hotel, and there he thought out the whole case again. On the previous
night, during the long hours when he was sleepless, it was a difficult
battle he had to fight. It was then for him to make known his son to
the world. Perhaps it had been a quixotic, almost a mad thing to do;
but, although the suffering it entailed was horrible, he could not help
doing it. He had fought a long battle over what he conceived to be his
duty, and duty had won. Now that was over, and he had done his duty,
the other problem faced him: how could he save his son? But again his
mind refused to work. Nothing seemed clear and definite to him. The
great feeling in his heart was hunger for his boy. He wanted to be by
his side--nay, he wanted to kneel at his feet, to plead with him, to
beg for his love.

He had not been long in his room before a look of determination came
into his eyes. He had yielded to the overmastering feeling in his
heart, and a few minutes later he was in the street again, on his way
to Strangeways Gaol.

CHAPTER XXIV

FATHER AND SON

Daylight was now dying, although it was only a little after three
o'clock. The sky was murky and smoke-laden, the air was utterly still.
All round the centre of the city the people still discussed the events
of the morning. Outside the Town Hall, in the Square, outside the
Hospital, all down Market Street, along Corporation Street, the people
stood in excited groups; and although the intense feeling which had
been aroused in the morning had somewhat subsided, there was only one
subject which was of paramount interest. Strange as it may seem,
however, the district round Strangeways Gaol was comparatively
deserted. The Assize Courts were no longer the centre of interest,
even although they were the source from which everything emanated.

By this time Paul Stepaside had become almost in a state of torpor. He
was suffering a reaction from the intense feeling which had possessed
him that morning. When he had at first returned to his cell his mind
was intensely alive, and a thousand plans were flashing through his
brain, a thousand questions occurred to him which demanded an answer.
Now, however, that numb, dull feeling