“How do you mean?”
“The case, the lady’s character, is sub judice,” Gastineau laughed. “You had better pause in any step you may be contemplating till the verdict has been given.”
Herriard rose. “My dear Gastineau, I don’t know whether you are joking, but surely you must know that Countess Alexia is absolutely innocent of this monstrous charge.”
Gastineau, however, looked anything but convinced. He shook his head half-humourously albeit there was no humour in the sharp eyes. “Beware, my son, of allowing your judgment to be warped by personal considerations.”
“Personal considerations?” Herriard burst out. “I hope I am not such a fool. But I would stake my reputation, my very existence, on the fact that the Countess had no more to do with Martindale’s death than you or I.”
“You would most likely be right; possibly be wrong,” Gastineau returned, in the drily sententious tone he could assume when direct argument seemed inexpedient.
“Do you mean to say,” Herriard demanded warmly, “that you really believe her guilty?”
“I mean to say,” Gastineau rejoined, stretching out his hand with a smile, “that I am not going to quarrel with you about it; so good-night.”
Herriard took his hand. “Gastineau,” he said, almost imploringly, “do, for pity’s sake, look at this affair with a more charitable eye.”
“Of course I will, my dear fellow,” the other responded, with an almost affectionate touch and tighter clasp of the hand. “Of course I will. Only you must remember, if I am to be of any service to you in this business, that the charitable is not necessarily the legal or the correct view of the possibilities of the case.”