"No more have I for a medical adviser just this minute, sir; but I may need one before night."
"And before night I may need a lawyer, O'Meara—is that it?"
The little man shook his head.
"I'm afraid of it, Heath; I'm afraid of it, as things look now."
"And things look now very much as they did this morning, I suppose?"
O'Meara nodded.
"Then, this is the prospect ahead—a coroner's verdict thus: 'Deceased came to his death at the hands of Clifford Heath, M. D.;' and circumstantial evidence thus: 'Deceased has on several occasions been threatened by accused; he was found buried near the premises of accused, and upon his person was found a handkerchief bearing the name, Clifford Heath.' This, and how much more I can't tell. It's a beautiful case, O'Meara."
The little lawyer stared, astonished at his coolness.
"Don't underrate this business, Heath," he said, anxiously. "I'm glad to see that it has not had the opposite effect on you. I'm glad to see plenty of pluck, but—"
"But, there's a strong case against me; that's what you would say, O'Meara. I don't doubt, and let me tell you that neither you nor I can guess how strong the case is; not yet."