Eades had announced that Archie would be tried for the murder of Kouka, and Elizabeth had been impressed.
"Wasn't that rather fine in him?" she asked.
"Yes," said Marriott, "and very clever."
"Clever?"
"He means to try him for the murder of Kouka, and convict him of the murder of Margaret Flanagan."
This morning then, Archie awaited the hour of his trial. The night before he had played solitaire, trying to read his fate in the fall of the fickle cards. The first game he had lost; then he decided that he was entitled to two out of three chances. He played again, and lost. Then he decided to play another--best three out of five--he might win the other two. He played and won the third game. He lost the fourth. And now he stood and waited. At half-past eight he drew on his waistcoat and his coat, giving them a final brushing. The Duke was singing again:
"An' I wish there were no bobbies,
I do, I does--'cause why?--
This oakum pickin' gives me such a lickin',
But still I likes to do a bit o' nickin',