"It's this way," said Archie Fearn, "—and I think your lordship will see that what I have to tell ye is worth five poons, although I doot whether ye'll be pleased—when I discovered all aboot Jean, and what people were saying aboot her, and when I had made up my mind aboot Mr. Bolitho, who was at one time the Member of Parliament for this toon, I fell to thinking, and I was not long in assuring myself that Mr. Bolitho was the same lad who came to the Highlands lang years syne as Douglas Graham. Of course, I had heard a great deal about Paul Stepaside, and being, as I tell't ye, a reasoning man, I put two and two together. So I sent a letter to Jean, and asked her to meet me."
"A likely story!" said the judge.
"Like or not, it's true. And more than that, she came to see me on the very night that young Wilson was murdered, so noo then!"
"Then you spoke to her that night?"
"Ay, I did. I thought to myself, 'Now that Jean has plenty of siller she'll be glad to know the truth!'"
"And you told her the truth?"
"Ay, I did. I showed her your photograph which I'd brought with me. We were standing under a street-lamp, and I showed it to her. And there's not the slightest doot but she recognised you."
"What time was that?" asked the judge.
"It were late," said the man. "It must have been well after eleven o'clock."
"How long was she with you?"