LITMIR.BIZ

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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 especially impulsive; but neither am I a stock or a stone or an effigy of wood; which I most surely must have been if I could have looked without being deeply moved on the grief, so natural and unselfish, of this strong, brave, loyal-hearted woman. In effect, I moved to her side and, gently taking in mine the hand that hung down, murmured some incoherent words of consolation in a particularly husky voice.

      Presently she recovered herself somewhat and softly withdrew her hand, as she turned towards me drying her eyes.

      “You must forgive me for distressing you, as I fear I have,” she said; “for you are so kind, and I feel that you are really my friend and Reuben’s.”

      “I am indeed, dear Miss Gibson,” I replied, “and so, I assure you, is my colleague.”

      “I am sure of it,” she rejoined. “But I was so unprepared for this—I cannot say why, excepting that I trusted so entirely in Dr. Thorndyke—and it is so horrible and, above all, so dreadfully suggestive of what may happen. Up to now the whole thing has seemed like a nightmare—terrifying, but yet unreal. But now that he is actually in prison, it has suddenly become a dreadful reality and I am overwhelmed with terror. Oh! Poor boy! What will become of him? For pity’s sake, Dr. Jervis, tell me what is going to happen.”

      What could I do? I had heard Thorndyke’s words of encouragement to Reuben and knew my colleague well enough to feel sure that he meant all he had said. Doubtless my proper course would have been to keep my own counsel and put Miss Gibson off with cautious ambiguities. But I could not; she was worthy of more confidence than that.

      “You must not be unduly alarmed about the future,” I said. “I have it from Dr. Thorndyke that he is convinced of Reuben’s innocence, and is hopeful of being able to make it clear to the world. But I did not have this to repeat,” I added, with a slight qualm of conscience.

      “I know,” she said softly, “and I thank you from my heart.”

      “And as to this present misfortune,” I continued, “you must not let it distress you too much. Try to think of it as of a surgical operation, which is a dreadful thing in itself, but is accepted in lieu of something which is immeasurably more dreadful.”

      “I will try to do as you tell me,” she answered meekly; “but it is so shocking to think of a cultivated gentleman like Reuben, herded with common thieves and murderers, and locked in a cage like some wild animal. Think of the ignominy and degradation!”

      “There is no ignominy in being wrongfully accused,” I said—a little guiltily, I must own, for Thorndyke’s words came back to me with all their force. But regardless of this I went on: “An acquittal will restore him to his position with an unstained character, and nothing but the recollection of a passing inconvenience to look back upon.”

      She gave her eyes a final wipe, and resolutely put away her handkerchief.

      “You have given me back my courage,” she said, “and chased away my terror. I cannot tell you how I feel your goodness, nor have I any thank-offering to make, except the promise to be brave and patient henceforth, and trust in you entirely.”

      She said this with such a grateful smile, and looked withal so sweet and womanly that I was seized with an overpowering im­pulse to take her in my arms. Instead of this I said with conscious feebleness: “I am more than thankful to have been able to give you any encouragement—which you must remember comes from me second-hand, after all. It is to Dr. Thorndyke that we all look for ultimate deliverance.”

      “I know. But it is you who came to comfort me in my trouble, so, you see, the honours are divided—and not divided quite equally, I fear, for women are unreasoning creatures, as, no doubt, your experience has informed you. I think I hear my aunt’s voice, so you had better escape before your retreat is cut off. But before you go, you must tell me how and when I can see Reuben. I want to see him at the earliest possible moment. Poor fellow! He must not be allowed to feel that his friends have forgotten him even for a single instant.”

      “You can see him tomorrow, if you like,” I said; and, casting my good resolutions to the winds, I added: “I shall be going to see him myself, and perhaps Dr. Thorndyke will go.”

      “Would you let me call at the Temple and go with you? Should I be much in the way? It is rather an alarming thing to go to a prison alone.”

      “It is not to be thought of,” I answered. “If you will call at the Temple—it is on the way—we can drive to Holloway together. I suppose you are resolved to go? It will be rather unpleasant, as you are probably aware.”

      “I am quite resolved. What time shall I come to the Temple?”

      “About two o’clock, if that will suit you.”

      “Very well. I will be punctual; and now you must go or you will be caught.”

      She pushed me gently towards the door and, holding out her hand, said—

      “I haven’t thanked you half enough and I never can. Good-bye!”

      She was gone, and I stood alone in the street, up which yellowish wreaths of fog were beginning to roll. It had been quite clear and bright when I entered the house, but now the sky was settling down into a colourless grey, the light was failing and the houses dwindling into dim, unreal shapes that vanished at half their height. Nevertheless I stepped out briskly and strode along at a good pace, as a young man is apt to do when his mind is in somewhat of a ferment. In truth, I had a good deal to occupy my thoughts and, as will often happen both to young men and old, those matters that bore most directly upon my own life and prospects were the first to receive attention.

      What sort of relations were growing up between Juliet Gibson and me? And what was my position? As to hers, it seemed plain enough; she was wrapped up in Reuben Hornby and I was her very good friend because I was his. But for myself, there was no disguising the fact that I was beginning to take an interest in her that boded ill for my peace of mind.

      Never had I met a woman who so entirely realised my conception of what a woman should be, nor one who exercised so great a charm over me. Her strength and dignity, her softness and de­pendency, to say nothing of her beauty, fitted her with the necessary weapons for my complete and utter subjugation. And utterly subjugated I was—there was no use in denying the fact, even though I realised already that the time would presently come when she would want me no more and there would remain no remedy for me but to go away and try to forget her.

      But was I acting as a man of honour? To this I felt I could fairly answer “yes,” for I was but doing my duty, and could hardly act differently if I wished to. Besides, I was jeopardising no one’s happiness but my own, and a man may do as he pleases with his own happiness. No; even Thorndyke could not accuse me of dishonourable conduct.

      Presently my thoughts took a fresh turn and I began to reflect upon what I had heard concerning Mr. Hornby. Here was a startling development, indeed, and I wondered what difference it would make in Thorndyke’s hypothesis of the crime. What his theory was I had never been able to guess, but as I walked along through the thickening fog I tried to fit this new fact into our collection of data and determine its bearings and significance.

      In this, for a time, I failed utterly. The red thumb-mark filled my field of vision to the exclusion of all else. To me, as to everyone else but Thorndyke, this fact was final and pointed to a conclusion that was unanswerable. But as I turned the story of the crime over and over, there came to me presently an idea that set in motion a new and very startling train of thought.

      Could Mr. Hornby himself be the thief? His failure appeared sudden to the outside world, but he must have seen difficulties

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