"I presume you know that the effect of the law officers of the Crown, believing the story that you tell us now is that, if they do so, the man whom you call your brother will be put into possession of the estate of which your late father died seized?" "He is entitled to it." Counsel turned to the jury with a smile. "It is always necessary to find some standard by which to judge of human actions. The witness quarreled with the defendant four days ago, and this is his revenge. But I appeal to the court. Is this story credible? Is it not a palpable imposture?" The judge again interposed. "Men do not risk so much for a lie. The witness knows that when the court rises the sheriff may take him into custody." At this counsel rose again and asked the bench not to play into the hands of the witness by apprehending him. "Let the convict be examined," said the judge. Paul Ritson raised his head; Greta sunk into a chair beneath him. He was not sworn. The warder in charge put in an entry from the books of the prison. It ran: "Paul Drayton, five feet eleven inches, brown hair and eyes, aged thirty, licensed victualer, born in London, convicted of robbery at the scene of a railway accident." "Does that entry properly describe you?" asked the judge. The convict's eyes wandered. "What's going on?" he said, in a tone of bewilderment. "Attend, my man. Are you Paul Ritson, the eldest son of the late Allan Ritson?" "Why do you want to know?" said the convict. "It befits a witness who is permitted to come from the scene of a degrading punishment to give a prompt and decisive answer. What is your name, sir?" "Find it out." "My man," said the judge, more suavely, "we sit here in the name of the law, and the law could wish to stand your friend." (The convict laughed bitterly.) "Pray help us to a decision in the present perplexing case by a few frank answers. If you are Paul Drayton, you go back to Portland to complete the term of your imprisonment. If it can be proved that you are Paul Ritson, your case will be laid before the home officials, with the result that you will be liberated and re-established in your estate. First of all, which is your name--Paul Drayton or Paul Ritson?" The convict did not answer at first. Then he said in a low tone: "No law can re-establish me." The judge added: "Bethink you, if you are Paul Ritson, and an innocent man, the law can restore you to your young wife." Visibly moved by this reference, the convict's eyes wandered to where Greta sat beside him, and the tension of his gaze relaxed. The judge began again: "You have been recognized by two witnesses--one claiming to be your brother, the other to be your wife--as Paul Ritson. Are you that person?"