was in the Stop Press! "Glove Lane Murder. The jury
returned a verdict of Guilty. Sentence of death was passed."

His first sensation was simple irritation. How had they come to commit
such an imbecility? Monstrous! The evidence--! Then the futility of even
reading the report, of even considering how they had come to record such
a verdict struck him with savage suddenness. There it was, and nothing
he could do or say would alter it; no condemnation of this idiotic
verdict would help reverse it. The situation was desperate, indeed! That
five minutes' walk from the Law Courts to his chambers was the longest
he had ever taken.

Men of decided character little know beforehand what they will do in
certain contingencies. For the imaginations of decided people do not
endow mere contingencies with sufficient actuality. Keith had never
really settled what he was going to do if this man were condemned. Often
in those past weeks he had said to himself: "Of course, if they bring
him in guilty, that's another thing!" But, now that they had, he was
beset by exactly the same old arguments and feelings, the same instincts
of loyalty and protection towards Laurence and himself, intensified by
the fearful imminence of the danger. And yet, here was this man about
to be hung for a thing he had not done! Nothing could get over that!
But then he was such a worthless vagabond, a ghoul who had robbed a
dead body. If Larry were condemned in his stead, would there be any less
miscarriage of justice? To strangle a brute who had struck you, by the
accident of keeping your hands on his throat a few seconds too long, was
there any more guilt in that--was there even as much, as in deliberate
theft from a dead man? Reverence for order, for justice, and established
fact, will, often march shoulder to shoulder with Jesuitry in natures to
whom success is vital.

In the narrow stone passage leading to his staircase, a friend had
called out: "Bravo, Darrant! That was a squeak! Congratulations!" And
with a bitter little smile Keith thought: 'Congratulations! I!'

At the first possible moment the hurried back to the Strand, and hailing
a cab, he told the man to put him down at a turning near to Borrow
Street.

It was the girl who opened to his knock. Startled, clasping her hands,
she looked strange to Keith in her black skirt and blouse of some soft
velvety stuff the colour of faded roses. Her round, rather long throat
was bare; and Keith noticed fretfu