And at last, “My dear, I daren’t say so,” Reggie said. “You mustn’t tell her to hope anything. I’ll go over all the case. But the man is condemned.” “Why, but there’s a court of appeal.” “Only for something new. And I don’t see it.” “Mark didn’t kill him!” she cried. Reggie spread out his hands. “That’s faith.” “Mr. Fortune! When I said I had come about the Carwell case, you said, ‘Oh, my prophetic soul!’ You don’t believe the evidence, then. You never did. You always thought there was something they didn’t find out.” “I don’t know. I don’t know,” Reggie said slowly. “That’s the last word now. And it may be the last word in the end.” “You!” she said, and held out her hand. When she was gone, Reggie stood looking at the place where she had sat. “God help us,” he said, rare words on his lips. And the place he went to was Scotland Yard. Lomas was occupied with other sublime officials. So Superintendent Bell reported. He had also been telephoning for Mr. Fortune. Mr. Fortune was admitted and found himself before a large red truculent man who glared. “Hallo, Finch. Is this a council of war?” said Mr. Fortune; for at that date Mr. Montague Finchampstead was the Public Prosecutor. “Lomas tells me”--Finchampstead has a bullying manner--“you’ve formed an opinion on the evidence in the Carwell case.” “Then he knows more than I do. The evidence was all right--what there was of it.” “The chain is complete,” Finchampstead announced. “Yes. Yes. If you don’t pull it hard.” “Well, no one did pull it.” “That’s what I’m pointing out, Finch,” said Reggie sweetly. “Why are you so cross?” “The trouble is, Fortune, the Carwell butler’s bolted,” Lomas said. Reggie walked across the room and took one of Lomas’s cigars and lit it, and made himself comfortable in his chair. “That’s a new fact,” he said softly. “Nonsense,” Finchampstead cried. “It’s irrelevant. It doesn’t affect the issue. The verdict stands.” “I noticed you didn’t call the butler at the trial,” Reggie murmured. “Why the devil should we? He knew nothing.” “Yet he bolts.” Lomas smiled. “The unfortunate thing is, Fortune, he bolted before the trial was over. At the end of the second day the local police were told that he had vanished. The news was passed on to Finchampstead. But the defence was not informed. And it didn’t come out at the trial.” “Well, well. I thought you were riding rather hard, Finch. You were.” “Rubbish. The case was perfectly clear. The disappearance of the butler doesn’t affect it--if he has disappeared. The fellow may very well have gone off on some affair of his own, and turn up again in a day or two. And if he doesn’t, it’s nothing to the purpose. The butler was known to have a kindness for Mark Carwell. If we never hear of him again I shall conclude that he had a hand in the murder, and when he saw the case was going against Mark thought he had better vanish.” “Theory number two,” Reggie murmured. “What do you mean?”