ain proof of a man's criminality."

"Merely presumptive evidence," replied Clark.

"Did you make further enquiries?" asked Mr. Green of Father Healy.

"I saw Mrs. Quirk--that used to be--and Mrs. Clarence that is now."

Dr. Marsh grunted, as was his way when anyone of whom he disapproved was
mentioned.

"And what did you think of her?" he asked.

"That divorce is a failure. If ever there was an unhappy woman, Mrs.
Clarence is that one. I sent up my card to her; presently she sent down
a message: 'Would Father Healy come up?' I went up three stories in a
lift to the prettiest little flat you can imagine. A nice, tidy maid
showed me into a charming little room, and there I found the lady. She
is an artist, and a clever one, they tell me; a pretty woman, and
agreeable; but unhappy, if I am any judge of happiness. I told her where
I had come from, and what do you think she asked me, 'Did I know Denis
Quirk?' 'Know him,' said I, 'of course I do; a fine man, and honest.'
Then she began to praise him, until at last I asked her: 'Did you know
him?' The lady was lost in confusion, but at last she answered: 'We were
married.' 'And what are you now?' I asked her."

"That was not like your customary caution," said Mr. Green.

"It was a mistake, but I was hot with indignation at her asking for
Denis. She shut up at once like the blade of a knife. But before I left
her she said to me, 'Will you give Denis Quirk a message?' 'Certainly I
will,' I answered her. 'Tell him I shall never forget his nobility,' she
said. What do you make of that?"

"It was not the message of a deeply-wronged woman," said Mr. Green.

"Precisely my opinion, but I wasted no more words on her, merely, 'Good
day, Madam.' As I was leaving the flat I met a man at the door, short,
stout, with bloodshot eyes, and baggy eyelids. 'What are you doing
here?' said he. 'Paying a morning call,' I answered. Thereupon he began
to call me unpleasant names, but I brushed him on one side, and went
home to wash my hands. I pity that poor lady, that has leaped from the
frying pan into the fire."

"And there your enquiries ended?" suggested Clark.

"I paid my respects to his Lordship, a kindly old man, with plenty of
common sense. 'I know nothing of Denis Quirk,' said he, because, as I
understood, his lips were closed by the seal of Confession. 'But,' he
asked me, 'what do you think of him?' 'I believe he is innocent,' I
answered. 'Speaking as a man who has carefully r