Brereton, watching the faces of the jurymen, all tradesmen of the town, serious and anxious, saw the effect which Cotherstone's evidence and the further admissions of the two sweethearts was having. And neither he nor Tallington--and certainly not Mr. Christopher Pett--was surprised when, in the gathering dusk of the afternoon, the inquest came to an end with a verdict of _Wilful Murder against Anthony Mallalieu_. "Your client is doing very well," observed Tallington to the Norcaster solicitor as they foregathered in an ante-room. "My client will be still better when he comes before your bench again," drily answered the other. "As you'll see!" "So that's the line you're taking?" said Tallington quietly. "A good one--for him." "Every man for himself," remarked the Norcaster practitioner. "We're not concerned with Mallalieu--we're concerned about ourselves. See you when Cotherstone's brought before your worthies next Tuesday. And--a word in your ear!--it won't be a long job, then." Long job or short job, the Highmarket Town Hall was packed to the doors when Cotherstone, after his week's detention, was again placed in the dock. This time, he stood there alone--and he looked around him with confidence and with not a few signs that he felt a sense of coming triumph. He listened with a quiet smile while the prosecuting counsel--sent down specially from London to take charge--discussed with the magistrates the matter of Mallalieu's escape, and he showed more interest when he heard some police information as to how that escape had been effected, and that up to then not a word had been heard and no trace found of the fugitive. And after that, as the prosecuting counsel bent over to exchange a whispered word with the magistrates' clerk, Cotherstone deliberately turned, and seeking out the place where Bent and Brereton sat together, favoured them with a peculiar glance. It was the glance of a man who wished to say "I told you!--now you'll see whether I was right!" "We're going to hear something--now!" whispered Brereton. The prosecuting counsel straightened himself and looked at the magistrates. There was a momentary hesitation on his part; a look of expectancy on the faces of the men on the bench; a deep silence in the crowded court. The few words that came from the counsel were sharp and decisive. "There will be no further evidence against the prisoner now in the dock, your worships," he said. "The prosecution decides to withdraw the charge." In the buzz of excitement which followed the voice of the old chairman was scarcely audible as he glanced at Cotherstone. "You are discharged," he said abruptly. Cotherstone turned and left the dock. And for the second time he looked at Bent and Brereton in the same peculiar, searching way. Then, amidst a dead silence, he walked out of the court. CHAPTER XXVI THE VIRTUES OF SUSPICION