to Mr. Wilding, you say. And you are prepared to swear to it?"

Ruth turned indignantly to the Bench. "Must I answer this man's
questions?" she demanded.

"I think, perhaps, it were best you did," said the Duke, still showing
her all deference.

She turned to Trenchard, her head high, her eyes full upon his wrinkled,
cynical face. "I swear, then..." she began, but he--consummate actor
that he was and versed in tricks that impress an audience--interrupted
her, raising one of his gnarled, yellow hands.

"Nay, nay," said he. "I would not have perjury proved against you. I do
not ask you to swear. It will be sufficient if you pronounce yourself
prepared to swear."

She pouted her lip a trifle, her whole expression manifesting her
contempt of him. "I am in no fear of perjuring myself," she answered
fearlessly. "And I swear that the letter in question was addressed to
Mr. Wilding."

"As you will," said Trenchard, and was careful not to ask her how she
came by her knowledge. "The letter, no doubt, was in an outer wrapper,
on which there would be a superscription--the name of the person to whom
the letter was addressed?" he half questioned, and Luttrell, who saw the
drift of the question, nodded gravely.

"No doubt," said Ruth.

"Now you will acknowledge, I am sure, madam, that such a wrapper would
be a document of the greatest importance, as important, indeed, as the
letter itself, since we could depend upon it finally to clear up this
point on which we differ. You will admit so much, I think?"

"Why, yes," she answered, but her voice faltered a little, and her
glance was not quite so fearless. She, too, saw at last the pit he had
dug for her. He leaned forward, smiling quietly, his voice impressively
subdued, and launched the bolt that was to annihilate the credibility of
the story she had told.

"Can you, then, explain how it comes that that wrapper has been
suppressed? Can you tell us how--the matter being as you state it--in
very self-defence against the dangers of keeping such a letter, your
brother did not also keep that wrapper?"

Her eyes fell away from his face, they turned to Albemarle, who sat
scowling again, and from him they flickered unsteadily to Phelips and
Luttrell, and lastly, to Richard, who, very white and with set teeth,
stood listening to the working of his ruin.

"I... I do not know," she faltered at last.

"Ah!" said Trenchard, drawing a deep breath. He turned to the Bench.
"Need I sug