“I await your solution of the problem, sir,” he said. “Will you oblige me by pronouncing upon it?” With a curious tingling in his nerves, Gilead entered. “At the other end, if you will favour me,” said Mr Judex. Thrilling in the prospect of some unconscionable discovery, Gilead advanced an uncertain step or two. On the instant the light went out, and a heavy slam and snap at his back told him that the door had been shut and locked upon him. He stood for some moments absolutely still and incredulous; then turned in a labouring way, and saw the intense darkness split low down with a faintest edge of light. He stumbled towards it, and found the door. “Mr Judex!” he cried--“Mr Judex!” A tiny chuckling laugh reached him from without. “How can I resolve the problem without light?” he pleaded, conscious of a sudden moisture breaking out over his face and chest. Again the small laugh came to him, followed by a voice. “Darkness is the very essence of the problem, Mr Balm. I wish you to remain there, entirely by yourself, until the morning, when I will return to release you.” “Mr Judex, why? In God’s name, why, Mr Judex?” He dwelt in anguish on the answer. “Shall I tell you?” said the voice, apparently after consideration. “I wish you no harm--I wish you no harm whatever, Mr Balm. On the contrary, in your mastery of fate lies my hope. Did you ever hear of Mr Justice Starkey?” “Yes.” “I am he, Mr Balm, and this is my house. You will pardon, I am sure, the deception, excusable and necessary under the circumstances. I desired to demonstrate to the world the wickedness of its conclusions in holding me primarily responsible for the man Maudsley’s suicide. Confinement in the dark cell would, I am convinced, never drive a guiltless conscience to self-destruction. It remains with you, if you have not lied to me, to substantiate that truth.” Somewhere in his racing thoughts, Gilead found and caught at a memory. It was of a notorious recent case in which a prisoner, sentenced to a term of penal servitude, and too late proved innocent, had strangled himself in the dark cell to which he had been committed for insubordination. There had been considerable press comment on the matter, when aired, and Mr Justice Starkey, who had summed up flagrantly against the accused, in despite of a strong presumption in his favour, had met with some caustic criticism, with the result that he had shortly after retired from the bench and withdrawn into seclusion. “Into the seclusion of a madhouse,” thought Gilead, appalled; “and he has either escaped or been discharged from it.” Such, indeed, appeared the fair presumption. He leaned against the solid door, gasping for speech. “I daresay the man,” he began, and stopped. He had been going to say, “was guilty after all;” but, even in that crisis, he would not commit his soul to a conscious untruth. “Yes?” enquired the voice. “Was unsophisticated, unselfpossessed in the sense of educated reason,” he finished.