"Her illness is easily accounted for," said the judge. "If she were fond of Wilson, might not his death have so overwhelmed her that her health broke down? Still——"
"I have seen all these objections," urged Mary. "But don't you see: Paul didn't do it—he couldn't—his mother could not have done it, and someone did! I know that what I've been thinking seems to rest upon pure coincidence, but, father, I've thought, and thought, and thought, until I'm sure!"
"Tell me more about it," said the judge.
Mary related her experiences of the day, told in detail of her visit to the factory, described her examination of the books, and then related her conversation with Emily Dodson's mother.
"Of course, prima facie," he said presently, "you have reasons for your suspicions, but even if your suspicions are true, what can be done? Unless we can prove that she took the knife, unless someone saw her under suspicious circumstances, we are helpless. She might have done the deed and still Paul might have to be hanged."
"But, father!" cried the girl, and there was a wail of agony in her voice.
"Oh, do not fear, my child, the thing shall be tested. Everything shall be sifted to the very bottom. No stone shall be left unturned, I can assure you of that!"
Again the judge sat for a long time thinking. Presently he started to his feet. "Mary, you're a clever girl!" he said. "And it seems to me that if Paul's life is saved, we shall owe everything to you! But—but—— Go to bed, my child, my brain is weary now, as yours must be. Let us try and get a little sleep. To-morrow we can act."
The following morning, when the two met again, there was a new light in Judge Bolitho's eyes, a ring of determination in his voice. His step was firm, and his whole demeanour suggested an eagerness which for a long time had been absent.
"I ought to go to Manchester this morning," he said. "You see, my position is very peculiar. But I shall not go, no matter what happens!"