Reggie stopped and stared at him. “Oh, Peter, what a word!” he muttered. “Satisfied! No, Bell, not satisfied. Only infuriated. He killed himself all right, poor beggar. One more victim for Witt and Company.” “What’s the next move, sir?” “Goodbye,” said Mr. Fortune. “I’m going home to read the papers.” With all the London papers which had appeared since the news that there was a doubt about the justice of Wilton’s conviction had been given them, he shut himself into his study. Most of them had taken the hint that there was a mystery in the case and made a lot of it. The more rational were content to tell the story in detail, pointing out the incongruity of such a man as Wilton and the crime. The more fatuous put out wild inventions as to the theories held by the police. But there was general sympathy with Dr. Wilton, a general readiness to expect that he would be cleared. He had a good press--except for the “Daily Watchman.” The “Daily Watchman” began in the same strain as the rest of the sillier papers, taking Wilton’s innocence for granted, and devising crazy explanations of the burglary. But on the third day it burst into a different tune. Under a full-page headline “The Wilton Scandal,” its readers were warned against the manufactured agitation to release the man Wilton. It was a trick of politicians and civil servants and intellectuals to prevent the punishment of a rascally criminal. It was another case of one law for the rich and another for the poor. It was a corrupt job to save a scoundrel who had friends in high places. It was, in fine, all sorts of iniquity, and the British people must rise in their might and keep the wicked Wilton in gaol if they did not want burglars calling every night. Mr. Fortune went to sup at that one of his clubs used by certain journalists. There he sought and at last found Simon Winterbottom, the queerest mixture of scholarship, slang, and backstairs gossip to be found in London. “Winter,” said he, having stayed the man with flagons, “who runs the ‘Daily Watchman’?” “My God!” Winterbottom was much affected. “Are you well, Reginald? Are you quite well? It’s the wonkiest print on the market. All newspapers are run by madmen, but the ‘Watchman’ merely dithers.” “You said ‘on the market,’” Reggie repeated. “Corrupt?” “Well, naturally. Too balmy to live honest. Why this moral fervour, Reginald? I know you’re officially a guardian of virtue, but you mustn’t let it weigh on your mind.” “I want to know why the ‘Watchman’ changed sides on the Wilton case.” Winterbottom grinned. “That was a giddy stunt, wasn’t it? The complete Gadarene. I don’t know, Reginald. Why ask for reasons? Let twenty pass and stone the twenty-first, loving not, hating not, just choosing so.” “I wonder,” Reggie murmured. “It’s the change of mind. The sudden change of mind. This is rather a bad business, Winter.” “Oh, simian,” Winterbottom agreed. His comical face was working. “You are taking it hard, Reginald.”