"Or consciously, even," he said quickly, meeting the other's eyes.
The judge moved sharply, bracing himself against the back of the chair.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Skilled in the law yourself, thoroughly familiar, with the rules of evidence, it's more than possible that you might have reviewed matters and decided that there were things which, if they were known, would do harm instead of good—obscure the truth, perhaps; or hinder the hunt for the guilty man instead of helping it on. That's clear enough, isn't it? You might have thought that?"
The look of sullen resentment in the judge's face was unmistakable.
"Oh, say what you mean!" he retorted warmly. "What you're insinuating is that I've lied!"
"It don't have to be called that."
"Well, then, that I, a judge, sworn to uphold the law and punish crime, have elected to thwart the law and to cheat its officials of the facts they should have. Is that what you mean?"
"I'll be honest with you," Hastings admitted, unmoved by the other's grand manner. "I've wondered about that—whether you thought a judge had a right to do a thing of that sort."
Wilton's hand, clenched on the edge of the desk, shook perceptibly.