“That one can hardly consent to,” said the solicitor. “Would you say it is quite legitimate to make such a stipulation? We have our witnesses on the line of insanity, and we must ask to have them called.” “But do you not see,” said Northcote, “that if we call those witnesses we admit the theory of the prosecution, and cut the ground from under our own feet?” “Certainly, certainly. One would have thought that so much would be self-evident.” “Yet you sought me out in the capacity of a fighter. I take it that had you not desired to fight you would have gone straightway to Harris.” “I can only admit the possibilities of a fight within limits. The woman’s guilt is established beyond question; our only concern is to mitigate its degree.” “For my own part,” said the advocate, “I am not prepared to accept your proposition. To my mind, so far is the woman’s guilt from being already established, that I am prepared to give an undertaking that it never will be established.” The solicitor drummed his fingers on the table-cloth. “I should like Tobin to hear you say that. I wish you had been at the police-court when the case came before the magistrate. There is enough evidence to hang an archdeacon.” “Very likely. But we shall be getting back to those abstract principles for entertaining which I have already suffered reproof.” The solicitor gave an uneasy eye to his watch. “You force me to deliver an ultimatum,” said he, in an uncompromising tone. “Please have the goodness to give an undertaking to conduct the defence on the lines indicated by Tobin, or return the brief.” A wave of blood surged through the brain of the young advocate. A dismal sickness overspread his veins. Tantalus was about to pluck away that which he had fasted and prayed for before he could take it in his grasp. “You have entrusted it to me already,” he said, in a dull, dry voice. “In a case of this magnitude,” said the solicitor, with an almost brutal precision, “I reserve to myself the right to alter my mind. You have forced me to issue an ultimatum. Accept or reject it, whichever you choose.” The solicitor called for his bill in a hectoring manner, and threw a bank-note on the waiter’s salver. The young advocate, in the meantime, buttoned the brief in the breast-pocket of his somewhat threadbare black coat. “What is your decision?” said the solicitor, regarding the young man with an insolent coolness. “You can’t have back your brief,” said Northcote. “You gave it to me.” “It can only be held conditionally,” said Mr. Whitcomb, “and the conditions are perfectly easy to accept.” “The brief was delivered unconditionally into my keeping,” said Northcote, in an arid voice. “And,” he added, with a sudden gleam of the eyes as an overpowering recollection of his destiny came back to him, “you will have no reason to regret your act.” Before the solicitor had framed a reply the waiter had returned with the receipted bill.