"I saw very little of Gurn in the Transvaal," she answered. "It was just by chance that I learned his name, but of course the difference between his own rank and my husband's position made the relations that I could have with a mere sergeant very limited indeed." "Yes, Gurn was a sergeant," the President said. "And after the war, madame, did you see the prisoner again?" "Yes, immediately after the war; my husband and I went to England by the same boat on which Gurn went home." "Did you see much of him on board?" "No; we were first-class passengers, and he, I believe, went second. It was just by accident that my husband caught sight of him soon after the boat sailed." The President paused and made a note. "Were those all the relations your husband had with the prisoner?" "They are at any rate all the relations I had with him," Lady Beltham replied in tones of some distress; "but I know that my husband employed Gurn on several occasions, to help him in various affairs and matters of business." "Thank you," said the President; "we will return to that point presently. Meanwhile there is one question I should like to ask you. If you had met the prisoner in the street a few months ago, should you have recognised him? Was his face still distinct in your memory, or had it become blurred and vague?" Lady Beltham hesitated, then answered confidently. "I am sure I should not have recognised him; and some proof of this is, that just before his arrest was effected I was conversing with the prisoner for several minutes, without having the faintest idea that the poor man with whom I imagined I had to do was no other than the man Gurn for whom the police were looking." The President nodded, and Maître Barberoux leaned forward and spoke eagerly to his client in the dock. But the President continued immediately. "You must forgive me, madame, for putting a question that may seem rather brutal, and also for reminding you of your oath to tell us the entire truth. Did you love your husband?" Lady Beltham quivered and was silent for a moment, as though endeavouring to frame a right answer. "Lord Beltham was much older than myself----," she began, and then, perceiving the meaning implicit in her words, she added: "I had the very highest esteem for him, and a very real affection." A cynical smile curled the lip of the President, and he glanced at the jury as though asking them to pay still closer attention. "Do you know why I put that question to you?" he asked, and as Lady Beltham confessed her ignorance he went on: "It has been suggested, madame, by a rumour which is very generally current in the newspapers and among people generally, that the prisoner may possibly have been greatly enamoured of you: that perhaps--well, is there any truth in this?" As he spoke the President bent forward, and his eyes seemed to pierce right through Lady Beltham. "It is a wicked calumny," she protested, turning very pale.