“It is no use,” he explained. “He won’t accept bail, and I can’t even get him to consent to employ counsel.” “But, my dear sir, that is sheer folly! Indeed, in this case it is worse than folly--it is suicide.” So said the judge, and so he fully believed. “I know it; that is just what I tell him. But he is as stubborn as a mule.” The lawyer in the judge awoke at this, and he became interested at once on the part of the mulish one. “What reason does he give, pray?” Forsyth hesitated, not knowing precisely how far he might confide in the questioner. So he felt his way: “He doesn’t give any reason; he simply refuses to talk. But I have my own theory. We are all friends of his, I take it, and I may speak plainly?” “Certainly; go on.” “Well, he is a singular fellow in some respects, and you can’t apply the law of averages. I believe he did the thing deliberately, and for some reason which does not appear on the surface. And, having done it, he means to let the law take its course without opposition--to take the consequences.” “H’m,” said the judge reflectively; then he remembered how easy it would have been for Brant to have shifted suspicion to Will, and his heart warmed toward the culprit. “We mustn’t allow that, Mr. Forsyth. Of course, the court will assign him counsel at the trial whether he wants it or not, but we mustn’t let it come to that. Do you see him again, and endeavour to make him listen to reason.” Forsyth promised to do what he might toward that desirable end, and the judge and his son left the courtroom together. The editor followed with Antrim, and when the Langfords were out of earshot the chief clerk put in his word: “You may say what you please, Forsyth, but I am not going to believe that Brant did it till he admits it himself.” “But, my dear boy, hasn’t he as good as admitted it already?” “No. In what little he has said he has dodged that point very cunningly.” “Of course he has; that is the proper thing to do. He is not obliged to criminate himself.” “It is proper enough, as you say, but, don’t you see, it doesn’t fit into your theory. If he killed the man and is determined to take the consequences, why on top of earth shouldn’t he plead ‘Guilty’ and be done with it?” That was a logical question, and Forsyth was unable to answer it. When he had said as much the inevitable alternative suggested itself, and he spoke of it: “If you exonerate Brant, you put the boy in a bad box.” Antrim had thought about that. “I can’t help it,” he said promptly. “The tree will have to lie where it falls. If you go back to motives, you will have to admit that, according to his own story, the thing looks bad for Will. He was the one who was quarrelling with Harding.” “Yes, but--pshaw! I can’t believe it, Antrim. Why, he is only a boy!” “That is true. But it is also true that he is a young tough, hot-headed and quick-tempered. I have known him all his life, and neither the thing itself nor the denial of it is much beyond him.”