"In what name was the letter signed?" "Henry Leek." "Was that before or after the death of the man who was buried in Westminster Abbey?" "A day or two before." (Sensation in court.) "So that your present husband was calling himself Henry Leek before the death?" "No, he wasn't. That letter was written by the man that died. My husband found my reply to it, and my photograph, in the man's bag afterwards; and happening to be strolling past St. George's Hall just at the moment like--" "Well, happening to be strolling past St. George's Hall just at the moment like--" (Titters.) "I caught sight of him and spoke to him. You see, I thought then that he was the man who wrote the letter." "What made you think so?" "I had the photograph." "So that the man who wrote the letter and died didn't send his own photograph. He sent another photograph--the photograph of your husband?" "Yes, didn't you know that? I should have thought you'd have known that." "Do you really expect the jury to believe that tale?" Alice turned smiling to the jury. "No," she said, "I'm not sure as I do. I didn't believe it myself for a long time. But it's true." "Then at first you didn't believe your husband was the real Priam Farll?" "No. You see, he didn't exactly tell me like. He only sort of hinted." "But you didn't believe?" "No." "You thought he was lying?" "No, I thought it was just a kind of an idea he had. You know my husband isn't like other gentlemen." "I imagine not," said Vodrey. "Now, when did you come to be perfectly sure that, your husband was the real Priam Farll?" "It was the night of that day when Mr. Oxford came down to see him. He told me all about it then." "Oh! That day when Mr. Oxford paid him five hundred pounds?" "Yes." "Immediately Mr. Oxford paid him five hundred pounds you were ready to believe that your husband was the real Priam Farll. Doesn't that strike you as excessively curious?" "It's just how it happened," said Alice blandly. "Now about these moles. You pointed to the right side of your neck. Are you sure they aren't on the left side?" "Let me think now," said Alice, frowning. "When he's shaving in a morning--he get up earlier now than he used to--I can see his face in the looking-glass, and in the looking-glass the moles are on the left side. So on _him_ they must be on the right side. Yes, the right side. That's it." "Have you never seen them except in a mirror, my good woman?" interpolated the judge. For some reason Alice flushed. "I suppose you think that's funny," she snapped, slightly tossing her head. The audience expected the roof to fall. But the roof withstood the strain, thanks to a sagacious deafness on the part of the judge. If, indeed, he had not been visited by a sudden deafness, it is difficult to see how he would have handled the situation. "Have you any idea," Vodrey inquired, "why your husband refuses to submit his neck to the inspection of the court?" "I didn't know he had refused." "But he has."