But nothing in the whole affair depressed the lawyer so much as the admissions Felix had made about his previous relations with Madame Boirac. It was, of course, true that Felix, a stranger introduced into the Boirac household, might have fallen in love with Madame and persuaded her to elope with him. But if Felix, instead of being a stranger, could be shown to have been not only desperately in love with, but actually formerly engaged to the mistress of the house, how tremendously the probabilities of such an elopement would be strengthened. What a picture a clever counsel could draw of this lady, tied to a man whom perhaps she detested, and with whom life in such case must have been an endless misery, brought unexpectedly in touch with the man of her real choice. . . . And her lover, his crushed-down feelings swelling up at the unlooked-for meeting, seeing her languishing in this bondage. . . . Why, the elopement would be amply accounted for. To Clifford it seemed that if the Crown got hold of the facts he had learnt, Felix was a doomed man. Indeed, the more he himself thought of the affair, the more doubtful of the artist’s innocence he became. As far as he could see, Felix had only one uncontrovertible point in his favour--his surprise on seeing the cask opened. And this would prove a matter of medical testimony, and no doubt there would be contradictory evidence. . . . The lawyer could see very little light even here. And then he reminded himself it was not his business to try Felix. Innocent or guilty, he, Clifford, was there to do the best he could for him. But what form was that best to take? Till the morrow had dawned he sat smoking in his chair, turning the case over in his mind, looking at the problem from every point of view, still without much result. But though he could not yet see the line his defence should follow, he was clear enough about his immediate next step. Obviously he must first see Bonchose, Mrs. Murphy, and the other persons of whom Felix had spoken, not only to test the latter’s story, but also in the hope of learning some new facts. Accordingly, next morning saw the lawyer ascending the steps of the house in Kensington in which the apartments of Mr. Pierre Bonchose was situated. But here he met with a disappointment. Mr. Bonchose had gone to the south of France on business and would not be home for three or four days. ‘That explains why he has made no attempt to see Felix since his arrest,’ said the lawyer to himself, as he turned away and hailed a taxi with the idea of a call on the charwoman. An hour later he reached the small village of Brent, on the Great North Road, and was directed to Mrs. Murphy’s cottage. The door was opened by a woman who had been tall, but was now shrunken, her sharp, careworn features and gray hair indicating that her life had been a struggle against odds. ‘Good morning,’ began the lawyer, courteously raising his hat. ‘You are Mrs. Murphy?’