cunning and resource; and Ilswunga made no more
complaint, for I taught her games with cards which she might play by
herself, and other things_.'"

"Is that enough?" Courbertin asked.

"Yes, that will do," Bill Brown answered. "But one moment. Please
state again the date of publication."

"1807, in Warsaw."

"Hold on, baron," Del Bishop spoke up. "Now that you're on the stand,
I've got a question or so to slap into you." He turned to the
court-room. "Gentlemen, you've all heard somewhat of the prisoner's
experiences in Siberia. You've caught on to the remarkable sameness
between them and those published by Father Yakontsk nearly a hundred
years ago. And you have concluded that there's been some wholesale
cribbing somewhere. I propose to show you that it's more than
cribbing. The prisoner gave me the shake on the Reindeer River in '88.
Fall of '88 he was at St. Michael's on his way to Siberia. '89 and '90
he was, by his talk, cutting up antics in Siberia. '91 he come back to
the world, working the conquering-hero graft in 'Frisco. Now let's see
if the Frenchman can make us wise.

"You were in Japan?" he asked.

Courbertin, who had followed the dates, made a quick calculation, and
could but illy conceal his surprise. He looked appealingly to Frona,
but she did not help him. "Yes," he said, finally.

"And you met the prisoner there?"

"Yes."

"What year was it?"

There was a general craning forward to catch the answer.

"1889," and it came unwillingly.

"Now, how can that be, baron?" Del asked in a wheedling tone. "The
prisoner was in Siberia at that time."

Courbertin shrugged his shoulders that it was no concern of his, and
came off the stand. An impromptu recess was taken by the court-room
for several minutes, wherein there was much whispering and shaking of
heads.

"It is all a lie." St. Vincent leaned close to Frona's ear, but she
did not hear.

"Appearances are against me, but I can explain it all."

But she did not move a muscle, and he was called to the stand by the
chairman. She turned to her father, and the tears rushed up into her
eyes when he rested his hand on hers.

"Do you care to pull out?" he asked after a momentary hesitation.

She shook her head, and St. Vincent began to speak. It was the same
story he had told her, though told now a little more fully, and in
nowise did it conflict with the evidence of La Flitche and John. He
acknowledged the wash-tub inciden