"They were not very cordial," said the witness in the same slow, monotonous voice in which her evidence had been given. "Ah! They were not very cordial. Different temperaments, no doubt. Thank you, Mrs Dorrien. That will do," said Mr Windgate blandly, making another note. As different as possible from his opponent was Mr Windgate, Q.C., the prisoner's advocate. A little man, with bushy black whiskers, round in person, brisk and smiling in manner--he was sharp as a needle. Yet the way in which he extracted admissions from an unwilling witness left an impression on that uncomfortable personage that was soothing, not to say flattering. Mr Benham, on the other hand, was apt to wax stern and slightly supercilious when on his mettle. The next witness called was the Rev Charles Curtis, the vicar of Cranston. He gave a more or less succinct account of the search in which he had taken part, up to the time of meeting with Eustace Ingelow at the bottom of Smugglers' Ladder. "This article was handed to you by young Mr Ingelow?" asked Mr Benham, holding up the silver matchbox which Eustace had picked up. "It was." "Had you ever seen it before?" "Never." "Nothing else was found at the time?" "Not down below. I believe something was found above." "Ah, we shall come to that presently. Thank you, Mr Curtis. That will do." Mr Windgate, having no question to ask beyond that concerning the terms on which the two young gentlemen stood with each other, the vicar was soon released. Then was taken the evidence of Thomas Platt, labourer, and afterwards, that of his wife--the pair who had last seen Hubert Dorrien alive on the fatal Sunday evening. The honest couple, who resided on the Cranston estate and looked up to the accused as their feudal lord, were mightily overcome by the awe of the situation, and the woeful perplexity with which they made their statements convulsed the audience, vastly tickled the Bar, and enraged the judge to the last degree. But the evidence of the rustic pair was straightforward enough, and tallied exactly, nor was it to be shaken by all the silky cross-questionings of the prisoner's counsel. Might they not have been mistaken about the direction the deceased was taking, or about the time? No--on all these points they were sure. They were of the soil born and bred, and on matters local like this were sharp enough. They had no feeling against the accused, quite the reverse. He was a kind master, although some folks were a bit afraid of him. "We are not taking evidence as to the character of the prisoner, Mr Windgate," reminded the judge crustily, drawing a suave apology from that eminent counsel, and the prompt bundling out of the box of the latter of the two rustic witnesses. "I shall call Eustace Ingelow," said the Crown Counsel on the return of the Court after a short adjournment for lunch.