ed again at the Judge's desk, and then rapidly writing a few
words on a piece of paper, folded and addressed it to the Hon. Charles
Blagden, and carried it to the Clerk's desk.

Van, restored to his usual good humour, met him with a smile.

"Why didn't you come earlier for your papers, Mr. Martin?" he whispered.
"I've had them here for you ever since Court opened."

"Much obliged, Van. Just hand this note up to Judge Blagden--will you?"

"I can't do it, Mr. Martin. His Private Secretary says it's one of his
fads. He won't even let us hand him telegrams when he's on the Bench."

"But this is more important than a telegram, Van," replied Martin in a
low tone. "Hand it up to him and I'll assume all the responsibility."

"I'd like to oblige you, Mr. Martin, but----"

"You will not be obliging me, Van, but him."

The veteran clerk gazed at the earnest face of the lawyer for a moment,
and then reached out his hand for the letter.

"I'll try it, Mr. Martin," he whispered.

It was some moments before the Justice noticed Van standing near his
chair, and raised his eyes inquiringly. The clerk held out the folded
piece of paper, but Blagden frowned and impatiently waved the official
away. For a moment Van lingered, but when the Magistrate swung his chair
so as to turn his back on the interruption, he rejoined Martin and
handed him the rejected note, with a smile and a shrug.

Martin took it and sat down again with a distinct feeling of relief. He
had done all he could. If there was anything wrong with the order he had
tried his best to call it to the Judge's attention, and that pompous
fool had rejected the opportunity. He might as well hand up the _Phelps_
vs. _Orson_ papers and go back to the office.

Martin pulled the small bundle out of his pocket and studied the
indorsement. _Phelps_ against _Orson_? Why, that must be the case Dick
Phelps had talked about for half an hour at the Club the other night. Of
course it was--Allison was his attorney. Well, that was rather odd.
Martin wrote "_submitted_" on the first paper in the bundle, and then
glanced at the Bench. The green order was fourth from the top.

Why the devil did his heart keep thumping with excitement! He had done
more than ninety-nine men out of a hundred would do. Anything more would
be asinine interference for which he would have time to repent at
leisure. He'd get right out of that stifling Court Room--

"_Phelps_ against _Orson_" called the Judge.