What was he to do? A word to Mr. Redway, and his innocence would be quickly proved. Nay, he need only give a hint, and the lawyers would do the rest. He need not mention Ruby’s name. Blood was thicker than water, after all; if it had only been himself to sacrifice he would have been too ready to do so for Ruby’s sake; but had he any right to sacrifice his father and sister as well? The more he thought of it the more convinced he became that he must save them at all costs. His eye fell upon the ink-pot on the wooden shelf. As a prisoner awaiting trial he was allowed to send and receive letters. He found a sheet of paper and wrote to the lawyer. CHAPTER XI. THE TRIAL. It was the second day of the trial. The atmosphere of the Court was stifling, and as the counsel for the prosecution sat down a deep buzz of conversation and scuffling of feet instantly succeeded the tense silence which had been maintained during his speech. The judge left the bench, and every one in Court rose. It was exactly ten minutes to five by the clock over the door. The counsel for the prosecution had spoken for just twenty minutes. The public struggled through the door, intent upon tea. "Poor devil, not much chance for him after that!" "Oh, he’s guilty all right! Did you notice the jury’s faces?" "G’on! we ain’t ’eard t’ other side yet." "Did yer notice the bloomin’ judge? What I calls a ’anging face, ’e’s got!" The crowd elbowed and jostled its way into the street, where the newsboys were shouting "Special edition! Great fraud case—full account." The barristers were collecting their papers, and Mr. Marshall touched John Dale on the shoulder: "Come on, Mr. Dale, we will go and have a cup of tea together at my own special tea-room. It is only just across the road!" The old man had sat beside his son’s counsel throughout the long day, and as witness succeeded witness and the chain of evidence grew stronger, his face became sterner and sterner, and when the eminent K.C., who represented the Crown, had reviewed it, taking each link in turn and cleverly wielding the whole into one perfect piece—there seemed not a flaw in the chain of evidence against the prisoner. He was already condemned, and it seemed to the old man that even he could no longer believe in his innocence. Mr. Marshall had watched the old man all day, and his kindly heart had been touched by his loneliness and obvious grief. He felt it would be cruel to let him go to his lonely lodgings without doing something to counteract the effect, which the case for the prosecution was bound to leave on the mind of one who was totally ignorant of Law Court methods. So, after removing his wig and gown, he steered the old man across the crowded Strand into the snug little tea-room. When the pretty, ribbon-bedecked Hebe had placed the pot of fragrant _bohé_ and plate of hot muffins between them, Mr. Marshall spoke: