ss divided into two camps, and
raged with a fury I have never seen equalled. Yet it is obvious, is it
not? for I see you have read of the case--that if the spiritual truth
about that old man could have been known there would have been very
little room for doubt in the matter. If what some surmised about his
disposition was true, he was quite capable of murdering Jessie M'Pherson
and then casting the blame on the poor feeble-minded creature who came
so near to suffering the last penalty of the law.'

'Even a commonplace old dotard like Fleming can be an unfathomable
mystery to all the rest of the human race,' said Trent, 'and most of all
in a court of justice. The law certainly does not shine when it comes
to a case requiring much delicacy of perception. It goes wrong
easily enough over the Flemings of this world. As for the people with
temperaments who get mixed up in legal proceedings, they must feel as
if they were in a forest of apes, whether they win or lose. Well, I dare
say it's good for their sort to have their noses rubbed in reality now
and again. But what would twelve red-faced realities in a jury-box have
done to Marlowe? His story would, as he says, have been a great deal
worse than no defence at all. It's not as if there were a single
piece of evidence in support of his tale. Can't you imagine how the
prosecution would tear it to rags? Can't you see the judge simply taking
it in his stride when it came to the summing up? And the jury--you've
served on juries, I expect--in their room, snorting with indignation
over the feebleness of the lie, telling each other it was the clearest
case they ever heard of, and that they'd have thought better of him if
he hadn't lost his nerve at the crisis, and had cleared off with the
swag as he intended. Imagine yourself on that jury, not knowing
Marlowe, and trembling with indignation at the record unrolled before
you--cupidity, murder, robbery, sudden cowardice, shameless, impenitent,
desperate lying! Why, you and I believed him to be guilty until--'

'I beg your pardon! I beg your pardon!' interjected Mr Cupples, laying
down his knife and fork. 'I was most careful, when we talked it all over
the other night, to say nothing indicating such a belief. I was always
certain that he was innocent.'

'You said something of the sort at Marlowe's just now. I wondered what
on earth you could mean. Certain that he was innocent! How can you be
certain? You are generally more careful