"You don't wish to cross-examine the police?" inquired the magistrate.
Gordon shook his head. "Not at present. If the case is persisted in after to-day—"
A sudden disturbance at the back of the building pulled him up abruptly in the middle of his sentence. The main entrance door had been flung open, and three men, evidently in a hurry, had stepped inside, to the indignant surprise of the policeman on duty, who was apparently attempting to bar their further progress.
The magistrate's voice rang out across the court with angry distinctness. "What's the meaning of all this noise? Who are these people?"
Like everyone else, I craned my head forward to get a better view of the intruders. One of them, I could see, was dressed as a priest; a second was a tall, clean-shaven man with grey hair. The face of the third was hidden by the shoulder of the constable, but as I looked that official moved hastily aside at the sound of the magistrate's voice.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was Milford! Milford himself standing there in the corridor beyond any shadow of doubt. He looked pale and haggard, and his usually immaculate clothes were crumpled and untidy, but of his identity there could be no possible question.
I turned eagerly to Gordon, but before I could attract his attention the man who was dressed as a priest had pushed his way to the centre of the court and was addressing the magistrate.
"I must ask your pardon for bursting in on the proceedings like this, Mr. Cowden," he said in a clear voice, with the faintest possible touch of a brogue. "I am Father Merrill of Stepney, and I have brought you a very important witness."
The excitement of the spectators was naturally at fever pitch, and despite the clerk's renewed demand for silence, the court buzzed with a low, eager whisper of speculation.
The magistrate inclined his head. "There is no need to apologise, Father Merrill. If you are in a position to throw any light on this case, you were quite right to attend. Who is your witness?"