Although deep
shadows under the eyes and the tenseness of the muscles round the mouth
revealed sleepless nights and mental agony, Penreath's face showed no
trace of insanity or the guilty consciousness of evil deeds, but had the
serene expression of a man who had fought his battle and won it.

Mr. Oakham began the interview with him in a dry professional way, as
though it were an interview between solicitor and client in the sanctity
of a private room, with no hearers. And, indeed, the prison warders
sitting there with the impassive faces of officialdom might have been
articles of furniture, so remote were they from displaying the slightest
interest in the private matters discussed between the two. No doubt they
had been present at many similar scenes, and custom is a deadening
factor. Mr. Oakham's object was to urge his client to consent to the
lodgement of an appeal against the jury's verdict, and to that end he
advanced a multitude of arguments and a variety of reasons. The young
man listened patiently, but when the solicitor had concluded he shook
his head with a gesture of finality which indicated an unalterable
refusal.

"It's no use, Oakham," he said. "My mind is quite made up. I'm obliged
to you for all the trouble you have taken in my case, but I cannot alter
my decision. I shall go through with it--to the end."

"In that case it is no use my urging you further." Mr. Oakham spoke
stiffly, and put his eye-glasses in his pocket with an air of vexation.
"Mr. Colwyn has something to say to you on the subject. Perhaps you will
listen to him. He believes he can help you."

"He helped to arrest me," said Penreath, with a slight indifferent look
at the detective.

"But not to convict you," said Colwyn. "I had hoped to help you."

"What do you want of me?" Penreath's tone was cold.

"In the first place, I have to say that I believe you innocent."

The young man lifted his eyebrows slightly, as if to indicate that the
other's opinion was a matter of indifference to him, but he remained
silent.

"I have come to beg of you, even at this late hour, to break your
silence, and give an account of your actions that night at the inn."

"You might have saved yourself the trouble of coming here. I have
nothing whatever to say."

"That means that you continue in your refusal to speak. Will you answer
one or two questions?"

"No."

"Will you not tell me why you kept silence about what you saw in Mr.
Glenthorpe's roo