There is a word in the letter that my wife says means patience. It is repeated three times. Friend Joseph, no one knows the value of patience better than David Lambert; he has exercised it to good purpose in times gone by. But when a man that you would take your oath is innocent is in a prison cell on a charge of murder it isn't easy to exercise it, especially when you get letters written in foreign languages. Mr. Reginald Boyd's people have engaged the soundest and best counsel in London in a case of this kind--Mr. Pallaret. None of your bullies or cockchafers, but a man that knows the law and will stand no nonsense, and a man that the bench listens to with respect. They could not have done better, and he made it pretty plain that he did not mean to allow this case to drag on at the pleasure of the police. They were all in the magistrate's court, Inspector Robson and his wife, and Mrs. Reginald Boyd, and, of course, the prisoner. Upon my word, it looks like injustice to set the word against him, believing what I believe, and knowing all the time that the case of the prosecution is as weak as water. I did not give them a glance, but I felt Mrs. Robson's eye upon me, and I was downright sorry for them. However, it was soon over. Remanded for a week. That gives us breathing time, but to the devil with your patience, friend Joseph. I make a mistake when I say they were all there. Dick Remington was absent, and it rather surprised me. So when I left the court I made my way to Catchpole Square, just to give him the time of day and see how he took it. There I met with another surprise. On the door of Samuel Boyd's house is a written notice, saying that Dick Remington is absent on business, and that all communications for him are to be addressed to Inspector Robson.