Gardens, Miss Gibson was at home, and to my
unspeakable relief, Mrs. Hornby was not. My veneration for that lady's
moral qualities was excessive, but her conversation drove me to the
verge of insanity--an insanity not entirely free from homicidal
tendencies.

"It is good of you to come--though I thought you would," Miss Gibson
said impulsively, as we shook hands. "You have been so sympathetic and
human--both you and Dr. Thorndyke--so free from professional stiffness.
My aunt went off to see Mr. Lawley directly we got Walter's telegram."

"I am sorry for her," I said (and was on the point of adding "and him,"
but fortunately a glimmer of sense restrained me); "she will find him
dry enough."

"Yes; I dislike him extremely. Do you know that he had the impudence to
advise Reuben to plead 'guilty'?"

"He told us he had done so, and got a well-deserved snubbing from
Thorndyke for his pains."

"I am so glad," exclaimed Miss Gibson viciously. "But tell me what has
happened. Walter simply said 'Transferred to higher court,' which we
agreed was to mean, 'Committed for trial.' Has the defence failed? And
where is Reuben?"

"The defence is reserved. Dr. Thorndyke considered it almost certain
that the case would be sent for trial, and that being so, decided that
it was essential to keep the prosecution in the dark as to the line of
defence. You see, if the police knew what the defence was to be they
could revise their own plans accordingly."

"I see that," said she dejectedly, "but I am dreadfully disappointed. I
had hoped that Dr. Thorndyke would get the case dismissed. What has
happened to Reuben?"

This was the question that I had dreaded, and now that I had to answer
it I cleared my throat and bent my gaze nervously on the floor.

"The magistrate refused bail," I said after an uncomfortable pause.

"Well?"

"Consequently Reuben has been--er--detained in custody."

"You don't mean to say that they have sent him to prison?" she exclaimed
breathlessly.

"Not as a convicted prisoner, you know. He is merely detained pending
his trial."

"But in prison?"

"Yes," I was forced to admit; "in Holloway prison."

She looked me stonily in the face for some seconds, pale and wide-eyed,
but silent; then, with a sudden catch in her breath, she turned away,
and, grasping the edge of the mantel-shelf, laid her head upon her arm
and burst into a passion of sobbing.

Now I am not, in general, an emotional man, nor even espec