With a cold and fearless bearing, Longcluse had by this time entered the dreadful door of a prison. His attorney was with him nearly the entire night. David Arden, as he promised, had dictated to him in outline the awful case he had massed against his client. "I don't want any man taken by surprise or at disadvantage; I simply wish for truth," said he. A copy of the written statement of Paul Davies, whatever it was worth, duly witnessed, was already in his hands; the sworn depositions of the same person, made in his last illness, were also there. There were also the sworn depositions of Vanboeren, who _had_, after all, recovered speech and recollection; and a deposition, besides, very unexpected, of old Martha Tansey, who swore distinctly to the scar, a very peculiar mark indeed, on the back of his left hand. This the old woman had recognised with horror, at a moment so similar, as the scar, long forgotten, which she had for a terrible moment seen on the hand of Yelland Mace, as he clutched the rail of the gig while engaged in the murder. The plaster masks, which figured in the affidavits of Vanboeren, and of David Arden, were re-cast from the moulds, and made an effectual identification, corroborated, in a measure, by Mr. Plumes' silhouette of Yelland Mace. Other surviving witnesses had also turned up, who had deposed when the murder of Harry Arden was a recent event. The whole case was, in the eyes of the attorney, a very awful one. Mr. Longcluse's counsel was called up, like a physician whose patient is _in extremis_, at dead of night, and had a talk with the attorney, and kept his notes to ponder over. As early as prison rules would permit, he was with Mr. Longcluse, where the attorney awaited him. Mr. Blinkinsop looked very gloomy. "Do you despair?" asked Mr. Longcluse sharply, after a long disquisition. "Let me ask you one question, Mr. Longcluse. You have, before I ask it, I assume, implicit confidence in us; am I right?" "Certainly--implicit." "If you are innocent, we might venture on a line of defence which may possibly break down the case for the Crown. If you are guilty, that line would be fatal." He hesitated, and looked at Mr. Longcluse. "I know such a question has been asked in like circumstances, and I have no hesitation in telling you that I am _not_ innocent. Assume my guilt." The attorney, who had been drumming a little tattoo on the table, watches Longcluse earnestly as he speaks, suspending his tune, now lowers his eyes to the table, and resumed his drumming slowly with a very dismal countenance. He had been talking over the chances with this eminent counsel, Mr. Blinkinsop, Q.C., and he knew what his opinion would now be. "One effect of a judgment in this case is forfeiture?" inquired Mr. Longcluse. "Yes," answered counsel. "Everything goes to the Crown, eh?" "Yes; clearly."