And in the very face of the man who knew the note was stolen, she left the witness-stand without a stain. He cared but little. He was defeated, his case hopeless, and he was weary of the court, the curious faces. Since it must all come out, it should come of his own free will. His counsel gasped as the prisoner leaned forward and asked leave of the judge to make a statement. “My lord,” he began; he looked about him listlessly, as if he had very little interest in his own words, “we have been here a long time, and I for one am weary. The facts are these: I had lived on Abbotsford for years, call it chantage, if you like. I lived on him. It was said he hated women; he had reason. He had been trapped into a marriage with a woman who was the worst of her sex. She was married already, but no one knew that but I, for she was my wife.” His insolent, deliberate voice paused an instant. “I was his best man, and the only witness of his marriage with a woman whose very existence disgraced him. He paid me to hold my tongue. But I drove him too far. He found the whole thing out. He had supported my wife for years, since he was a mere boy, and he had paid me to keep the marriage that was no marriage a secret, and he threatened to expose me. I should have been ruined at the bar and elsewhere. “I went to see him on the day his engagement was announced. On the way I bought a bottle of prussic acid. If he gave me his word not to expose me, well and good! If not”--he shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I was stronger than he. To knock him down and pour the prussic acid in his mouth would not be hard. But I had no need. “I found him lying on his sofa, ill, but quite obstinate. That very night should see me a marked and disgraced man; his letters were written. And then he asked me--me to hand him something that was poured out ready in a glass, because his throat was sore! I did, but first I poured in what was in my bottle. He drank a mere mouthful. Then he threw down the glass and tried to call. But that time was over. “I laid him back on the sofa, as if he slept, and I had barely time to hide in the bedroom when that lady there”--looking at Mrs. Trelane--“came in and found Lord Abbotsford dead. The rest you know, even to the jewels that were her own! I trust, my lord, that the case is done, and that the ladies and gentlemen who have honored the court”--with an ironical bow--“have not found the entertainment more dull than they expected.” A little rustle ran through the court. Never had there been so extraordinary an ending to a trial for murder. A man who let his life go because he was weary of the tedious defense of it! Not even the judge could find voice for an instant. And then some one screamed. Marcus Wray had fallen in the dock like a slaughtered ox. “A fit! Poison!” Every soul there gasped out one word or the other.