other and Dad and I," announced Miss Lacey, bubbling, "were driving to
the wedding. As we turned out of Long Lane into the Buckler Road, a
great green car went by like a flash of lightning. Fortunately we were
on the other side, or we'd have been smashed up. And, miles behind,
there was a little white dog running the same way. I saw him, because I
was back to the engine. Of course we were going much faster than him,
and I soon lost sight of him."

Nobby!

Berry was the first to recover.

"Thank Heaven I dragged him in." He glanced at his watch. "Counsel must
know this at once. Come on. Never mind the bill: we can settle later."

No one who was that afternoon lunching at the _Savoy_ will ever forget
our eruption from the restaurant. The girls actually ran. Berry, Jonah,
and I, pursued by frantic waiters, thrust in their wake, taking the
carpeted steps three at a time, and generally evincing such symptoms of
nervous excitement as are seldom seen save upon the screen of a
cinematograph. Indeed, our departure would have done credit to any stage
manager, and I firmly believe that the majority of the guests attributed
our behaviour to the ingenious brain of a manufacturer of films.

Five minutes later we panted up the steep steps into the corridor which
led to our Court. As luck would have it, our solicitor was in the act of
pushing open the swing-doors.

I caught him by the arm and breathed into his ear.

"Important new evidence. Vital. We've got the witness here."

He was a man of few words.

"In there," he said shortly, pointing to a consulting room. "I'll get
counsel."

We trooped into the apartment and shut the door.

In silence we waited for what seemed a century. Then there were hasty
steps, the door opened, and the K.C., followed by his junior and the
attorney, entered the room.

Briefly Berry related the story which Miss Lacey could tell.

"This is the lady," he concluded. "I know our case is closed, but surely
she can be called?"

We hung upon the reply.

"Can she speak to the number?"

"No. But in corroboration----"

"My dear Major Pleydell," said Tristram, "you need no corroboration. The
jury believe you. They believe you were smashed up. They believe it was
done by a green touring car. The devil of it is, they believe the
defendant too. And so they come to the very natural conclusion that,
between the excitement of the moment and the pace at which the car was
travelling, Mrs. Pleydell and Ca