"Do you think I don't know that it's a weighty charge? I'm not making it. I'm only telling you what's in my mind, as between friends. I'll not breathe a word of the matter to any one but you till I can bring it into court, and prove it. At present, in your lawyer's sense, I've not proof enough to cover a pin's point. But, Andrew, though the mills of God grind slowly, they grind surely, and exceeding fine. Maybe one day God's finger will press her in between the stones, then you'll know that the conviction which is implanted in my breast is of the nature of the prophetic vision. God has shown me, though I cannot tell you how." There was silence. The doctor, still standing, bent over the table on which stood the coffee and liqueurs, pointing with one skinny finger upwards. He continued in that attitude for a perceptible period after he had ceased to speak. Then Mr. McTavish's voice broke the spell which he seemed to have cast upon the air. "David, you use big words. I don't--it's not my way. But confidence begets confidence. I'll tell you something in return--and that without insulting you by asking if you can keep a still tongue--because I know you can." The doctor returned to a more normal attitude, seeming to do so with an effort, as if he were shaking something from him. He spoke in his ordinary tones. "Let me light another cigar before you begin. This sort of talk's disquieting, especially after such a dinner as I've had. I think a tonic might not be amiss." He sipped his liqueur. "Andrew, this is not bad brandy." "A hogshead wouldn't hurt you." "Wouldn't it? Is it your custom to drink brandy by the hogshead? I thought you didn't use big words." "It's a figure of speech, David--a figure of speech. If you have that cigar properly lighted, and will sit down like a decent creature, I'll have my say--that is, if you have not had enough of the matter under discussion." "You're not more ready to talk than I am to listen. Now, Andrew, I'm at your service." "Well, you suspect this lady of something more than misdemeanour. I may tell you that I doubt if she would have done what she did do--if she did it!--if she had known what she knows now." "You speak in parables." "I'll be plain enough. Did you know anything about Cuthbert Grahame's affairs?--his financial affairs, I mean." "Something." "Had you any idea how much he was worth?" "He told me himself, not once but frequently, that he was worth nearer three hundred thousand pounds than two hundred thousand. He said, moreover, that his investments brought him in an average interest of over ten per cent. He had made several lucky hits." "That's what he told us; it seems that that's what he told her. Did you see on what amount probate duty was paid?" "Not I; I took no interest in the matter then. I was too disgusted with myself and everything. My one desire was to get the whole business out of my head; the trouble is that I haven't been able to do it."