did not actually see Blade."

Freynes nodded his agreement.

"Having convinced myself that Blade had nothing to do with the
writing of the letters, I next tried to discover if there were
anything throwing suspicion on others in the neighbourhood, who were
known to use 'Olympic Script' as note-paper.

"The schoolmaster, John Gray, was one. He is an admirer of Miss
Crayne, according to local gossip; but it was obvious from the first
that he had nothing to do with the affair. One by one I eliminated
all the others, until I came back once more to Blade.

"It was clear that the letters were written with a fountain-pen, and
Blade always uses one. That, however, is not evidence, as millions
of people use fountain-pens. By the way, what is your line of
defence?" he enquired.

"Smashing the handwriting experts," was the reply. "I was calling
four myself, on the principle that God is on the side of the big
battalions; but now I shall depend entirely on your evidence."

"The assault?" queried Malcolm Sage.

"There I'm done," said Freynes, "for although Miss Crayne's evidence
is not proof, it will be sufficient for a jury. Besides, she's a
very pretty and charming girl. I suppose," he added, "Blade must
have made some sort of declaration, which she, in the light of the
anonymous letters, entirely misunderstood."

"What does he say?"

"Denies it absolutely, although he admits being in the neighbourhood
of the 'Gipsies Wood,' and actually catching sight of Miss Crayne in
the distance; but he says he did not speak to her."

"Is he going into the witness-box?"

"Certainly"; then after a pause he added, "Kelton is prosecuting,
and he's as moral as a swan. He'll appeal to the jury as fathers of
daughters, and brothers of sisters."

Malcolm Sage made no comment; but continued smoking mechanically,
his attention apparently absorbed in the cards before him.

"If you can smash the handwriting experts," continued the K.C., "I
may be able to manage the girl's testimony."

"It will not be necessary," said Malcolm Sage, carefully placing a
nine of clubs upon an eight of diamonds.

"Not necessary?"

"I have' asked Murdy to come round," continued Malcolm Sage, still
intent upon his game. "I think that was his ring."

A minute later the door opened to admit the burly inspector, more
blue-eyed and genial than ever, and obviously in the best of spirits.

"Good evening, Mr. Sage," he cried cheerfully. "Congratulations on
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