Heath's door! He has blackened
the character of the dead; he has struck hard at the honorable living.
He has flooded the court with the testimony of mysterious strangers; he
has suppressed known witnesses; he has worked his will with us. But he
has not disproved one item of evidence; he has not changed one fact or
phase of the case. Let us grant all he has proven, what have we left?
_The unalterable facts_, that the prisoner has repeatedly threatened his
victim; that the murdered man set out to visit the prisoner, at night,
through the darkness, and was found early the following morning, before
the body could be removed to a safer hiding place, his face covered by
the prisoner's own linen; his gaping wounds giving evidence of a
practiced hand; the prisoner's knife buried with him; the _key_ of the
prisoner's office or house lying beside the shallow grave. Facts tell,
gentlemen; these _are facts_."

These words rush from his lips torrent like.

He has turned to face the jury and so does not see that O'Meara has
lounged back to his seat, with an air of perfect unconcern, and that he
is actually signaling the judge not to stay this whirlwind; a proceeding
which so astounds that official, that for full five minutes the tide of
speech flows on, lava like.

On the audience, it has a startling effect. He is speaking the truth. He
is reiterating facts, and facts are sure of instant recognition by our
Yankee countrymen.

A thrill runs through the assembly; there comes one of those sudden
revulsions of feeling, common to scenes like this. Sir Clifford
Heathercliffe disappears from before their dazzled vision; what they
see, in the light of stern facts, is Clifford Heath, the murderer.

"These are facts," reiterates Mr. Rand, excitedly. "Who has seen this
wonderful Bathurst, with his bundle of testimony? Who knows the man? Why
is he not here in court? _Where is he?_"

"_Here!_"

Clear and full the voice rings over the room, transfixing for one moment
the entire court; then the gavel descends; order is commanded with
double unction, because of the recent lapse. Mr. O'Meara is on his feet;
Mr. Rand's impromptu speech is at an end.

"More theatricals," snarls Mr. Rand, flinging himself violently down
into his seat.

But no one heeds him; all eyes are fixed upon the new comers.

Near the door of the court room they stand grouped close together.

Mr. Wedron, dignified and placid as usual.

Mrs. Lamotte, with head proudly