Northcote lunched with Mr. Whitcomb in a secluded place, where he partook of a concoction of egg and sherry, and two Abernethy biscuits. The solicitor’s attitude towards him had already changed. The fact that he had adhered to his refusal to call witnesses for the defence was allowed to pass, because he had been able to show that after all he was entitled to hold ideas of his own on the conduct of the case. His remarkable essay in cross-examination had restored the solicitor’s self-esteem; the dark horse he had chosen was not going to prove so unworthy after all. “Of course you have got the judge dead against you now,” said the solicitor, “and I don’t quite see what it is going to do for you; but as far as it went it was very well done. I can’t think how you came to put all those questions. Where did you get your information? It was not on your brief.” “Never mind where I got it,” said Northcote, with a laugh. His composure was much greater than when his client had conversed with him in the court. “If only the whole case were not so dead it might have proved enormously useful,” said the solicitor. “Yes, it was very well done.” “Would you say that Tobin would have done it better?” said the young man, with an odd smile. “No, I would not,” said the solicitor. “I will pay you the compliment of saying that even Michael Tobin would not have done it better.” “Thank you,” said the young man drily. “And now, what would you like to lay against an acquittal?” “Well, you are a cool hand, I must say,” exclaimed Mr. Whitcomb, somewhat taken aback. “For a beginner I don’t think I’ve met your equal.” “What will you lay against an acquittal?” “I don’t mind laying five hundred to fifty,” said the solicitor. “Done,” said Northcote. “If you had asked me this morning before you went into court you might have had five thousand to fifty.” “Sorry I forgot to mention it, because I was just as sure then as I am now what the result will be.” “Why you should have this confidence I cannot understand. Really, you know, you haven’t a leg to stand on.” “Well, well; I am going to leave you now to take a stroll for ten minutes. See you soon.” Northcote went out into the traffic to take a few mouthfuls of the London air. Fiery chemicals seemed to be consuming his nerves, and his brain was like a sheet of molten flame. But sensations so extreme in nowise distressed him. He felt the exhilaration of this strange yet not unpleasant condition to be the pledge of a harmony between mental and physical passion. It seemed to promise that the overweening consciousness of power that had haunted him for so many weeks in his solitude was about to be fulfilled. The painful self-distrust, the afflicting self-consciousness which had tormented and atrophied his energies in smaller cases had vanished altogether.