their evidence was over two years old and was weak,
inasmuch as the facts, if facts, were not acted upon by the
management. Still their testimony was very clear and very positive,
and, taken together with that of the blackmailers, sufficient to
ensure conviction. After our lunch I laid this view before Oscar. He
agreed with me that it was probably the chambermaids' testimony which
had weighed most heavily against him. Their statement and Shelley's
had brought about the injurious tone in the Judge's summing up. The
Judge himself had admitted as much.

"The chambermaids' evidence is wrong," Oscar declared. "They are
mistaken, Frank. It was not me they spoke about at the Savoy Hotel. It
was ----. I was never bold enough. I went to see ---- in the morning
in his room."

"Thank God," I said, "but why didn't Sir Edward Clarke bring that
out?"

"He wanted to; but I would not let him. I told him he must not. I must
be true to my friend. I could not let him."

"But he must," I said, "at any rate if he does not I will. I have
three weeks and in that three weeks I am going to find the
chambermaid. I am going to get a plan of your room and your friend's
room, and I'm going to make her understand that she was mistaken. She
probably remembered you because of your size: she mistook you for the
guilty person; everybody has always taken you for the ringleader and
not the follower."

"But what good is it, Frank, what good is it?" he cried. "Even if you
convinced the chambermaid and she retracted; there would still be
Shelley, and the Judge laid stress on Shelley's evidence as
untainted."

"Shelley is an accomplice," I cried, "his testimony needs
corroboration. You don't understand these legal quibbles; but there
was not a particle of corroboration. Sir Edward Clarke should have had
his testimony ruled out. 'Twas that conspiracy charge," I cried,
"which complicated the matter. Shelley's evidence, too, will be ruled
out at the next trial, you'll see."

"Oh, Frank," he said, "you talk with passion and conviction, as if I
were innocent."

"But you are innocent," I cried in amaze, "aren't you?"

"No, Frank," he said, "I thought you knew that all along."

I stared at him stupidly. "No," I said dully, "I did not know. I did
not believe the accusation. I did not believe it for a moment."

I suppose the difference in my tone and manner struck him, for he
said, timidly putting out his hand:

"This will make a great difference to y