he way he
held Miss Belton up, after the exposure of her arts, as the lady for
whom his client had so chivalric a regard that he had for some time
refused to state his whereabouts at the hour the bank was entered in
the fear of compromising her. For this, no doubt, his client could have
strangled him, but it operated, of course, to raise the poor fellow
in the estimation of every body, with the possible exception of his
employers. When, after the unmistakable summing-up, the foreman returned
in a quarter of an hour with the verdict of "Not guilty," people
noticed that the young man walked out of court behind his father with
as drooping a head as if he had gone under sentence; so much so that
by common consent he was allowed to slip quietly away. Miss Belton
departed, followed by the detective, whose services were promptly
transferred to the prosecution, and by a proportion of those who scented
further entertainment in her perfumed, perjured wake. But the majority
hung back, leaving their places slowly; it was Lorne the crowd wanted
to shake hands with to say just a word of congratulation to, Lorne's
triumph that they desired to enhance by a hearty sentence, or at least
an admiring glance. Walter Winter was among the most genial.

"Young man," he said, "what did I tell you? Didn't I tell you you ought
to take this case?" Mr Winter, with his chest thrust out, plumed and
strutted in justifiable pride of prophecy. "Now, I'll tell you another
thing: today's event will do more for you than it has for Ormiston. Mark
my words!"

They were all of that opinion, all the fine foretellers of the profit
Lorne should draw from his spirited and conspicuous success; they
stood about in knots discussing it; to some extent it eclipsed the main
interest and issue of the day, at that moment driving out, free and
disconsolate, between the snake fences of the South Riding to Moneida
Reservation. The quick and friendly sense of opportunity was abroad on
Lorne Murchison's behalf; friends and neighbours and Dr Drummond, and
people who hardly knew the fellow, exchanged wise words about what his
chance would do for him. What it would immediately do was present to
nobody so clearly, however, as to Mr Henry Cruickshank, who decided that
he would, after all, accept Dr Drummond's invitation to spend the night
with him, and find out the little he didn't know already about this
young man.

That evening the Murchisons' doorbell rang twice. The first t