"But I am only at the beginning of my case," said Meynell with the same composure. "I think you had better listen ... A passage in one of the recent letters gave me a hint--an idea. I went straight to East the publican, and taxed him with being the accomplice of the writer. I blustered a little--he thought I had more evidence than I had--and at last I got the whole thing out of him. The first letter was written"--the speaker raised his finger, articulating each word with slow precision, "by your son Maurice, and posted by East, the day after the cage-accident at the Victoria pit; and they have pursued the same division of labour ever since. East confesses he was induced to do it by the wish to revenge himself on me for the attack on his license; and Maurice occasionally gave him a little money. I have all the dates of the letters, and a statement of where they were posted. If necessary, East will give evidence." A silence. Barron had resumed his seat, and was automatically lifting a small book which lay on a table near him and letting it fall, while Meynell was speaking. When Meynell paused, he said thickly-- "A plausible tale no doubt--and a very convenient one for you. But allow me to point out, it rests entirely on East's word. Very likely he wrote the letters himself, and is attempting to make Maurice the scapegoat." "Where do you suppose he could have got his information from?" said Meynell, looking up. "There is no suggestion that _he_ saw Judith Sabin before her death." Barron's face worked, while Meynell watched him implacably. At last he said: "How should I know? The same question applies to Maurice." "Not at all. There the case is absolutely clear. Maurice got his information from you." "A gratuitous statement, sir!--which you cannot prove." "From you"--repeated Meynell. "And from certain spying operations that he and East undertook together. Do you deny that you told Maurice all that Judith Sabin told you--together with her identification of myself?" The room seemed to wait for Barron's reply. He made none. He burst out instead-- "What possible motive could Maurice have had for such an action? The thing isn't even plausible!" "Oh, Maurice had various old scores to settle with me," said Meynell, quietly. "I have come across him more than once in this parish--no need to say how. I tried to prevent him from publicly disgracing himself and you; and I did prevent him. He saw in this business an easy revenge on a sanctimonious parson who had interfered with his pleasures." Barron had risen and was pacing the room with unsteady steps. Meynell still watched him, with the same glitter in the eye. Meynell's whole nature indeed, at the moment, had gathered itself into one avenging force; he was at once sword and smiter. The man before him seemed to him embodied cruelty and hypocrisy; he felt neither pity nor compunction. And presently he said abruptly--