"Can I do nothing more for you?" he asked. "Nothing more." Mr. Goldberry, before he took his departure, drew our Reporter aside. "You appear to be interested in the man?" he said. Our Reporter enlightened him. "I am a journalist, on the staff of the _Evening Moon_." "And on the look-out for paragraphs. You will find Antony Cowlrick worth studying." "You believed in his innocence when you defended him. Do you believe in it now?" Mr. Goldberry laughed. "I am not prepared to be interviewed. One thing is certain. There is a mystery here, and I should like to obtain a clue to it. You may be more successful than I." "He speaks like a gentleman." "We live in levelling times. There is no telling who is who. I have heard a gentleman speak like a costermonger." This confidential communication between our Reporter and Mr. Goldberry escaped the ears, but not the eyes, of Antony Cowlrick, and when Mr. Goldberry left and our Reporter remained, he was the first to speak. "Has the lawyer deputed you to watch me?" "No," replied our Reporter. "I am a newspaper man, and should be glad if you can give me any information for my paper?" "Information about what?" "Yourself." "Haven't the newspapers had enough of me? I haven't read one for many weeks, but I guess their columns must have been filled with reports of the proceedings at the Magistrate's Court." "You guess right. The murder committed in Great Porter Square was most horrible, and the public have been much excited about it. The paper I am on, the _Evening Moon_, was the only one which from the first declared you to be innocent of the charge brought against you. Perhaps you would like to read what we have written on the subject." Antony Cowlrick took the packet of papers which our Reporter had prepared in anticipation of the emergency. "I have unknown friends, it seems." "It is a question of fair play, and, being a public matter, comes within our province. See, here is yesterday's paper, stating that a subscription is opened at our office for you." "You have taken an unwarrantable liberty in holding me forth as an object of charity." "What has been done," said our Reporter, "has been done with good intent. There was no desire to hurt your feelings, but you appeared, and appear, to be in poverty." "Will you lend me a sovereign?" "Willingly. There were two at the office for you yesterday, and when I left this morning not less than ten pounds had been received for the subscription list." "A queer world we live in, do we not, with a public that one moment is ready to tear a man to pieces, and the next to surfeit him with sweets? I decline to accept your money. I would not touch it, though I am really in want of a meal. I suppose, if you were to leave me this instant, or I were to refuse to hold any further converse with you, you would consider it your duty to write a flaming article about me for the next edition of your paper?"