“Quite so. I am glad to hear you say that.” Johnson opened his mouth as if about to speak again; then changed his mind and remained silent. “What is the use,” was his mental comment, “of arguing with such a person?” And so, after all, a verdict of “death from natural causes” was returned, and Johnson, feeling extremely dissatisfied, left the Court accompanied by Blenkiron and Captain Preston. It was the second of these two incidents, however, which had interested Preston far more than the first, had, indeed, engrossed almost the whole of his attention since the night of the ball--the arrest of Yootha Hagerston. Though finally acquitted, she had undergone intense mental suffering during the time she had been kept under observation. And naturally people had talked. Many, in fact, had not yet finished talking. Among the latter was Jessica Mervyn-Robertson. Perhaps the truth of the old saying that “if you throw mud enough, some of it is sure to stick,” had never been better illustrated than in connection with Yootha’s arrest on a charge of theft. Women in particular discussed the affair, and during such discussions eyebrows were raised significantly, and there were plenty of little smiles which implied more than any spoken words could have done. “Had she been a poor woman, instead of what we call a lady,” the hackneyed observation was trotted out again, “she would be in prison now, my dear,” a faded creature who had always toadied to rich people observed to Jessica during a few moments’ conversation they had in Bond Street one morning. “Mrs. Stringborg is a friend of yours, isn’t she?” Jessica replied that she had known her for some years. “And what does she think about it?” Jessica raised her eyebrows. Then, after an instant’s pause, she said cryptically: “She doesn’t think.” The faded woman nodded. “I understand,” she purred. “She knows.” Jessica smiled. It was one of the significant smiles referred to, more deadly than spoken words. And so they parted, Jessica with a smile upon her lips, and hatred still in her heart, the other woman reveling in her good fortune at having had this assurance, as she chose to consider it, direct from a friend of Marietta Stringborg’s, that though Yootha had been acquitted she was guilty. And Yootha? Already she began to feel the draught in the mental atmosphere. Plenty of her friends remained true to her, of course, not giving a second thought to the suggestion that the pearls had been taken by her, but there were others....