“_Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes_,” retorted Herrick, with happy inspiration. Lord Malvern laughed a silent little laugh, and an audible little laugh went round the Court from those who understood the tag, and from those also who laugh because others laugh; for always man, as Lord Beaconsfield truly observed, is mimetic. Then the brief flash of merriment died out, and the Court came back to business. “It is perfectly clear that the trial must proceed,” said the learned judge. “Much public time has already been devoted to the case, and, I may add, much public money. The convenience of the jury and of many witnesses must be considered. This is the fourth day we have been here, and it is desirable on every ground that it should be the last.” “But, my lord, the Crown will lose the benefit of Sir John Westwood’s reply on the whole case.” “Sir John Westwood is not here, Mr Herrick.” “And the privilege of a law officer of the Crown in the connection mentioned is thought by some to be the more honoured in the breach than in the observance,” remarked Mr Jacobs. “On this occasion you are for the defence, Mr Jacobs,” said his lordship. “On another occasion----” His lordship paused, with a humorous twinkle in his eye, and the gap was filled with a burst of laughter this time; for it was well known that the successful Hebrew advocate had his unsatisfied ambitions. “Are there any witnesses for the defence?” asked the Chief Justice, when silence was restored. “I call none,” said Mr Jacobs; and Mr Brill merely shook his head by way of answer for his client. “Very well, then, it only remains for Mr Herrick to address the jury. Counsel for the prisoners will follow, and my summing-up will not occupy more than an hour. The jury will understand,” said his lordship, turning towards them, “that however unfortunate the absence of the leading counsel, and however valuable the speeches of those who are present, it is upon the facts, and the facts alone, that their verdict must be based, according to the evidence. Now, Mr Herrick.” * * * * * Thus it came about that greatness of a sort was thrust upon Aldwyth Westwood’s lover. Thus did fortune place in his way a golden opportunity. But this is no story of a young barrister’s triumphant achievement, according to the interesting precedents recorded by the lady novelists. Young Herrick, at this stage of the strange and terrible game then opening, was little better than a pawn on the chessboard of a master-player. Throughout the moves that followed on that Saturday in April, he felt half conscious of the fact, and the face which had looked out of the mist at the beginning seemed to dominate him until the end.