ng his own. He was not the same man. But I particularly told him
to send me a lawyer first of all.

"Yes, yes!" he said, fidgeting to go, "to Major Cowper's. Let me write
his address."

"And a solicitor," I said. "Send him to me on your way there."

"Yes, yes," he said, "I shall be able to be of use to the solicitor. As
a rule, they are men of no great perspicacity."

And he went hurriedly away.

The real torture, the agony of suspense began then. I steadied my nerves
by trying to draw up notes for my speech to the jury on the morrow. That
was the turnkey's idea.

He said, "Slap your chest, 'peal to the honour of a British gent, and
pitch it in strong."

It was not much good; I could not keep to any logical sequence of
thought, my mind was forever wandering to what my father was doing. I
pictured him in his new blue coat, running agitatedly through crowded
streets, his coat-tails flying behind his thin legs. The hours dragged
on, and it was a matter of minutes. I had to hold upon the table edge to
keep myself from raging about the cell. I tried to bury myself again in
the scheme for my defence. I wondered whom my father would have found.
There was a man called Cary who had gone home from Kingston. He had a
bald head and blue eyes; he must remember me. If he would corroborate!
And the lawyer, when he came, might take another line of defence. It
began to fall dusk slowly, through the small barred windows.

The entire night passed without a word from my father. I paced up and
down the whole time, composing speeches to the jury. And then the day
broke. I calmed myself with a sort of frantic energy.

Early the jailer came in, and began fussing about my cell.

"Case comes on about one," he said. "Grand jury at half after twelve.
No fear they won't return a true bill. Grand jury, five West India
merchants. They means to have you. 'Torney-General, S'lic'tor-General.
S'r Robert Mead, and five juniors agin you... You take my tip. Throw
yourself on the mercy of the court, and make a rousing speech with
a young 'ooman in it. Not that you'll get much mercy from them. They
Admir'lty jedges is all hangers. 'S we say, 'Oncet the anchor goes up
in the Old Bailey, there ain't no hope. We begins to clean out the
c'ndemned cell, here. Sticks the anchor up over their heads, when it is
Hadmir'lty case,'" he commented.

I listened to him with strained attention. I made up my mind to miss not
a word uttered that day. It was my onl