'A bad case, gentlemen,' he was saying, 'a very bad case: it was fortunate that I was passing on my way, if only to identify the prisoner. Dear me! I knew his honoured father, gentlemen; I was his father's unworthy attorney. His father was none other than Sir Peter Halliday. The young man was turned out of the house for misconduct. A bad case——Who would have thought that Sir Peter's son would die at Tyburn?'

Then there was another voice: rich and rolling, like a low stop of the organ—I knew that too. It was the voice of the Bishop.

'My name, Mr. Constable, is Carstairs; Samuel Carstairs; the Rev. Samuel Carstairs, Doctor of Divinity, Sanctæ Theologiæ Professor, sometime of Trinity College, Dublin. I am an Irish clergyman, at present without cure of souls. I was walking home after certain godly exercises'—in the Black Jack—I suppose—'when this fellow ran out in front of me, crying "Your money or your life." I am not a fighting man, Sir, but a servant of the Lord. I gave him my purse, entreating him to spare my life. As he took it, some other gentleman, unknown to me, ran to my assistance, and knocked the villain down. Perhaps, Mr. Constable, you would direct his pockets to be searched. The purse contained seventeen guineas.'

I felt hands in my pocket. Something was taken out.

'Ha!' cried the Doctor. 'Let the money be counted.'

I heard the click of coin and another voice cried 'Seventeen guineas.'

'Well,' said Mr. Probus, 'there cannot be much doubt after that.'

'I rejoice,' said the Doctor, 'not so much that the money is found—though I assure you, worthy Sir, I could ill afford the loss—as because it clearly proves the truth of my evidence—if, that is to say, there could be any question as to its truth, or anyone with the hardihood to doubt it.'

At this point, I was able to open my eyes. The place I knew for a Round House. The Constable in charge sat at a table, a book before him, entering the case: Mr. Probus stood beside him, shaking his virtuous head with sorrow. The Doctor was holding up his hands to express a good clergyman's horror of the crime: Mr. Merridew was standing on the other side of the Constable, and beside him the Captain, who now stepped forward briskly.

'My name,' he said, 'is Ferdinando Fenwick. I am a country man from Cumberland. I was walking with this gentleman'—he indicated Mr. Merridew. 'We were walking together for purposes of mutual protection, for I have been warned against this part of London, when I saw the action described by this pious clergyman. The man ran forward raising his cudgel. I have brought it with me—You can see, Sir, that it is a murderous weapon. I saw the gentleman here, whose name I did not catch——'