The more Fred Thomas thought over the case which he had to handle, the less he liked it. He was certainly not accustomed to be squeamish; and considerably more than his share of rather shady business came his way. But he did not like these cases of what he called “serious crime.” Sharp practice was well enough; but a lawyer engaged in it regularly had best abstain from the defence of murderers. Thomas had by this time gone into the whole case, and was fully aware of the force of the evidence against his client held by the police. In his mind, there was not much doubt of Walter Brooklyn’s guilt. He had obviously been in the house; the stick and the telephone message showed that; and what were you to do with a man who would not make a clean breast of it to his own lawyer? What was the use of his client’s reiterated assertions that he had not been near the place, and that he knew nothing at all about the murders? Indeed, was not the refusal to speak the clearest indication of guilt? If Brooklyn, though he had been present in the house, had not been guilty, surely he would have told what he knew. Still, unsatisfactory as his client was, he would have to do his best for him. He could not very well throw up the case after he had once agreed to take charge of it. But he was not hopeful, and, for the moment, it seemed the best course to go and talk the whole thing over with Carter Woodman. But, when one came to think of it, was there not yet another indication of the man’s guilt? If the man had been innocent, he would surely have gone first of all to the family lawyer. Thomas knew Woodman only slightly, and was not quite sure of his reception. But, when he rang up, Woodman readily agreed to see him and to give all possible help. “After all,” he had said, “the man’s a sort of relation of mine, whatever he may have done”—a way of putting the position which did not strengthen Thomas’s belief in the innocence of his client. When Thomas was shown into Woodman’s office, he was surprised at the cordiality of his reception. Woodman was “so glad” he had come, and they must work together to do what they could for the poor fellow—“a bit of a bad hat, between ourselves, but—for the sake of the family, you know.” Thomas went straight to the point. “Mr. Brooklyn positively assures me that he was not in Liskeard House on Tuesday night, and that he knows absolutely nothing of the murders.” Woodman said nothing; but he drummed on the table with his fingers, and the action conveyed a perfectly clear message. What were you to do for a fellow who would not tell his own lawyer the truth? “He says that he simply strolled about all the time between ten o’clock and midnight.” “Alone?” asked Woodman. “Yes, quite alone. Judging from his story, it would be impossible to obtain confirmation—even if it were all true.” “Then what line of defence do you propose to adopt?”