The spectators drew a long breath. It would have been a terrible disappointment to have been robbed of so exciting a drama at the conclusion of only the first act. Mr. Sewell proceeded to call his witnesses. The first was Browne, who had found the body, and Faradeane standing beside it. The revolver was produced and handed to the jury. Mr. Edgar asked: “Do you identify this?” There was a moment’s pause. “It bears the prisoner’s initials,” said Mr. Sewell. Mr. Edgar examined the revolver closely. Then he said: “Has any one a magnifying glass?” A buzz went round, and a gentleman--a doctor--handed his pocket glass to him. He took it and examined the initials closely, long and closely, while every eye was fixed upon him. “I call your attention, gentlemen of the jury, to the fact,” he said, slowly and impressively, “that these initials have been recently made. Now, Browne, I ask you--and be careful how you answer--were those initials upon this revolver when you picked it up?” Every soul in the court waited for the answer. “They were, sir,” said Browne. Mr. Edgar drew a penknife from his pocket and handed it with the revolver to the jury. “I ask you, gentlemen, to compare the engraving upon that pocketknife and the initials scratched upon the revolver. Further than that I cannot go, unless his lordship permits me to go into the dock and swear that the initials on that knife were engraved nine months ago.” Mr. Sewell rose. “My learned friend cannot be witness and counsel at the same time.” “I am aware of that,” said Mr. Edgar, boldly. “I simply place the knife beside the revolver for the jury’s inspection.” While this little scene had been enacting, Olivia had leaned forward with parted lips and dilating eyes, her heart throbbing with a faint hope. Then she sank back, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. Inch by inch, with terrible sequence, Mr. Sewell unfolded his case, and minute by minute the case for the prosecution looked darker and more unanswerable. Faradeane stood apparently unmoved, his hand resting without a tremor upon the front of the dock, his eyes fixed upon the ground. At last Mr. Sewell said: “This is our case, my lord.” Mr. Edgar rose, and squaring his shoulders as a man does who is facing a more than ordinarily difficult task, said: “My lord and gentlemen of the jury: I know that I have no need to ask your indulgence. I know that I need not point out to you how terrible is the responsibility which rests upon my shoulders. With you lies the verdict, but with me lies the awful responsibility of so pleading for the life of the prisoner at the bar that no chance, however slight, shall escape my notice. I am aware that expressions of belief in the innocence or guilt of a client made by a counsel can have but little weight; but, gentlemen, I feel that I must tell you that if there should be any shortcomings in my pleading on this man’s behalf, such shortcomings will not arise from any doubt of his innocence.