that I thought Jean didn't act like an old neighbour
should--seeing that at one time she was likely to be my sister-in-law!
She didn't ask me in. Still, she seemed very grateful for the
information I gave her."

"And you saw her go into the house early in the morning, you say?"

"Ay, I did."

"And then, did you go away immediately?"

"Nay, I waited out of curiosity for a few minutes. I heard the door
snick, and then I waited until I saw a light in her bedroom. I said to
myself, 'Jean will have a good deal to think about to-night.' I didn't
think then that things would be so unfavourable to me."

"What do you mean?" asked the judge.

"Well, being, as I tell't you, a Scotsman, and a canny Scotsman at
that, I naturally thought that the man who had discovered her husband
for her would have a slight claim on her when she came into her own."

"Ah, I see," said the judge.

For more than an hour they sat talking, the Scotsman cool and
self-contained, the judge asking keen, searching questions.

Presently Archie Fearn wended his way towards the part of the town
where he had a lodging. "It's a peety the public-houses are all
closed," he said, as he lovingly felt the five-pound note which the
judge had given him. "Still, there's a to-morrow; and it may be I've
done a good night's work after all."

As for the judge, he sat for a long time thinking. The house was now
in silence. Everyone had gone to bed. He went upstairs and listened
outside Mary's bedroom door. Evidently his daughter had retired. He
went to the door of the room where his wife lay. All was silent. Then
he came downstairs again.

"I am in my son's house," he said to himself, "and he--he's lying in
Strangeways Gaol! I wonder whether, after all, this night may not mean
a great deal. Anyhow, it's narrowed the circle of inquiry. It proves
Jean was guiltless of this thing, and Mary altogether mistaken. I
wonder what she will say when I tell her!"

The following morning he related to Mary what had happened on the
previous night; told her in detail all that the man Fearn had said to
him.

"You see, Mary," he said, "your suspicions were utterly wrong. The
man's story has made it practically impossible for what you have
thought to be true. Whoever committed the deed, it was not she--thank
God for that!"

In spite of herself Mary was at length convinced. For hours she sat
thinking over what her father had told her, considering the
conseq