The Judas Window

instead of merely putting it into a glass; because it meant getting rid of the decanter afterwards. Believe me, Mary, the thought that someone afterwards might find the decanter has given me some horribly unpleasant moments.

Finally, I arranged with Tregannon and Quigley to do what was to be done. That is the limit of my dereliction. It is not my fault that my well-meant efforts produced such unfortunate results. But you will see why I could not speak. .

At this point, as H.M. turned over the page, a strangled noise escaped him; and then it became a groan. Our hopes went down with a clang like a broken lift.

Of course, if Answell had really been innocent, I should have been compelled to speak out and tell the truth. You must believe that. But, as I told you, even the truth would do him no good. He is guilty, my dear - guilty as hell. He killed your father in one of those rages for which his family has been noted for a long time, and I cheerfully let him go to the hangman rather than set him loose on you. Perhaps his protestations of innocence are quite sincere. He may not even know that he killed your father. 'Brudine’ Is still a comparatively unknown quantity. It is quite harmless; but when its effect begins to wear off it often leaves the patient with a partial gap in the memory. I know this will be terrible news for you, but please let me tell you what really happened. Answell thought that your father was drugging him and tricking him in some way. He knew that his drink was drugged as soon as he felt the effects coming on. It remained in his memory, and it was the first thing he remembered when he began to wake up - farther back than his own memory extends now. They had been talking, unfortunately, about killing people with arrows. He got that arrow and stabbed your father before poor Avory knew what was happening: that is how this dear fiance of yours came to be sitting up in the chair when his memory returned to him. He had just finished his work.

Before God, Mary, this is what really happened. I saw it with my own eyes. Good-bye, and bless you for ever even if I do not see you again. °

Your affectionate uncle, SPENCER

H.M. put his hands up to his eyes and pressed his forehead. He lumbered up and down beside the table; finally he sat down in a chair. The little worm of doubt was in all of us now.

'But won't it -?' the girl cried.

'Save him?' asked H.M., lifting a dull face. 'My dear good wench, if you took that letter into court nothin' in the world could save him. I'm wondering if anything can save him now. Oh, my eye!'

'But couldn't we cut off the last part of the letter and just show them the first part? That's what I thought of.'

H.M. regarded her sourly. She was a very pretty piece, and very much more intelligent than this suggestion sounded.

'No, we couldn't,' he told her. 'Not that I'm above hocus-pocus; but the blazin' bad part of that letter is on the back of the sheet that tells about the drugged whisky. Here's proof - here's evidence - and, burn me, we don't dare use it! Tell me something, my wench. In the face of that letter, do you still believe he's innocent?'

'I most certainly ... Oh, I don't know I Yes. No. All I do know is that I love him, and you've got to get him off somehow! You're not going back on me, are you?'

H.M. sat twiddling his thumbs over his paunch and staring at the floor. He sniffed.

'Me? Oh, no. I'm a glutton for punishment, I am. They get the old man in a corner and whack him over the head with a club; and every so often they'll say: 'What, ain't you unconscious yet? Soak him another one'; and yet -burn me, why should that chap lie? I mean your good old uncle. He admits it about the whisky. I was lookin’ forward, you see, to cross-examinin' him to-day. I was all ready to tear him to pieces and show up the truth. I could 'a' sworn he knew the truth, and even knew who the real murderer is. But here he is swearin' that Answell ...' H.M. brooded. ' 'I saw it with my own eyes.' That's the part I can't get over. Curse it all, how could he have seen it with his own eyes? He couldn't. He was at the hospital when it happened. He's got an alibi as big as a house; we tested all that. He's lyin' - but if I prove he's lyin' about that, the first part of the letter isn't worth firewood. We can't have it both ways.'

'Even at this late date,' I said, 'will you still keep from giving a hint as to how you mean to defend him? What are you going to say when you get up there to-morrow? What the devil is there to say?'

An expression of evil glee stole over H.M.'s face.

'You don't think the old man can be eloquent, do you?' he enquired. 'Just you watch me. I'm going to get up there and look 'em in the face, and I'm goin’ to say -

X

Call the Prisoner1

'ME lord; members of the jury.'

With one hand behind his back, and his feet planted wide apart, H.M. was certainly looking them in the eye. But I could have wished that his manner was not so much that of a lion-tamer entering a cage with whip and pistol, or at least that he would abate his murderous glare at the jury.

Court-room Number One was packed. The rumour of sensational developments had been all over town: since seven o'clock in the morning there had been a queue outside the door to the public gallery up over our heads. Where there had been only a few newspapermen in attendance yesterday, to-day every paper in London seemed to have put a man in the somewhat inadequate space provided for the press. Before the sitting of the court, Lollypop had spent some time talking with the prisoner over the rail of the dock; he looked shaken but composed, and ended by shrugging his shoulders wearily. This conversation appeared to interest the saturnine Captain Reginald Answell, who was watching them. It was just twenty minutes to eleven when Sir Henry Merrivale rose to open the case for the defence.

H.M. folded his arms.

'Me lord; members of the jury. You're probably won-derin' what sort of defence we're here to offer. Well, I'll tell you,' said H.M. magnanimously. 'First of all, we'll try to show that not one single one of the statements made by the prosecution could possibly be true.'

Sir Walter Storm rose with a dry cough.

'My lord, the assertion is so breath-taking that I should like to be quite clear about it,' he said. 'I presume my learned friend does not deny that the deceased is dead?'

'Ss-s-t!' hissed Lollypop, as H.M. lifted both fists. Well, Sir Henry?'

'No, my lord,' said H.M. 'We'll concede that as bein' the only thing the Attorney-General has been able to find out about this case unaided. We'll also concede that zebras have stripes and hyenas can howl. Without drawin' any more personal comparisons between hyenas and-'

The zoology of the matter does not concern us,' said . Mr Justice Rankin, without batting an eyelid. 'Proceed, Sir Henry.'

T beg your lordship's pardon and withdraw the question,' said the Attorney-General gravely; 'submitting the accepted fact that hyenas do not howl: they merely laugh.'

'Hyenas - Where was I? Ah, I got it. Members of the jury,' pursued H.M., leaning his hands on the desk, 'the Crown have presented their case to you on two counts. They've said to you: 'If the prisoner didn't commit this crime, who did?' They've also said: 'It's true we can't show you any shadow of a motive for this crime; but therefore the motive must have been a very powerful one.' Both of those counts are pretty dangerous for you to go on. They've based their case on a culprit they can't find and a motive they don't know.

'Let's take first this question of motive. You're asked to believe that the prisoner went to Avory Hume's house with a loaded pistol in his pocket. Why? Well, the police-officer in charge of the case says: 'People do not usually carry weapons unless they think they may have a use for them.' In other words, you're subtly asked to believe that the prisoner went there with the straight intention of murdering Avory Hume. But why? As a prelude to married life, it's a little drastic. And what prompted the feller to do that? The only thing you've heard is a telephone conversation - where, mind you, there wasn't one bitter or flamin' word spoken the whole time. 'Considerin' what I have heard, I think it best that we should settle matters concerning my daughter. Can you manage to come to my house at six o'clock' and all the rest of it. Did he say to the prisoner: 'I'll settle your hash, damn you'? He did not. He said it to a dead phone; he said it to himself. All the prisoner heard - all anyone says he heard - was a cold and formal voice invitin' him to the house. And ' therefore, you're asked to believe, therefore he grabbed up someone else's gun and rushed round to the house with murder written all over his face.