Gerard promised, and then Mr. Leopold, instead of taking his departure, made himself quite at home in the surgeon’s arm-chair, and stirred the small fire with so reckless a hand that poor Gerard trembled for his weekly hundred of coals. The solicitor seemed in an idle humour, and inclined to waste time. Honest Tom Sampson wondered at his frivolity. The conversation naturally turned upon the deed which had given that house a sinister notoriety. Gerard found himself talking freely of Madame Chicot and her husband; and it was only after Mr. Leopold and his companion had gone that he perceived how cleverly the experienced lawyer had contrived to cross-question him, without his being aware of the process. After this evening Gerard watched the newspapers for any report of the Chicot case. He read of John Treverton’s appearance at Bow Street, and saw that the inquiry had been adjourned for a week. At Mrs. Evitt’s particular request he read the report of the case in the evening papers on the night after the inquiry. She seemed full of anxiety about the business. ‘Do you think they’ll hang him?’ she asked eagerly. ‘My good soul, they’ve a long way to go before they get to hanging. He is not even committed for trial.’ ‘But it looks black against him, doesn’t it?’ ‘Circumstances certainly appear to point to him as the murderer. You see there seems to be no one else who could have had any motive for such an act.’ ‘And you say he has got a sweet young wife?’ ‘One of the loveliest women I ever saw; I feel very sorry for her, poor soul.’ ‘If you was on the jury, would you bring him in guilty?’ asked Mrs. Evitt. ‘I should be sorely perplexed. You see I should be called upon to find my verdict according to the evidence, and the evidence against him is very strong.’ Mrs. Evitt sighed, and turned her weary head upon her pillow. ‘Poor young man,’ she murmured, ‘he was always affable--not very free-spoken, but always affable. I should feel sorry if it went against him. It would be awful, wouldn’t it?’ she exclaimed, with sudden agitation, lifting herself up from her pillow, and gazing fixedly at the surgeon; ‘it would be awful for him to be hung, and innocent all the time; and a sweet young wife, too. I couldn’t bear it; no, I couldn’t bear it. The thought of it would weigh me down to my grave, and I don’t suppose it would let me rest even there.’ Gerard thought the poor woman was getting delirious. He laid his fingers gently on her skinny wrist, and held them there while he looked at his watch. Yes, the pulse was a good deal quicker than it had been when he last felt it. ‘Is Jemima there?’ asked Mrs. Evitt, twitching aside the bed-curtain, and looking nervously round. Yes, Jemima was there, sitting before the fire, darning a coarse gray stocking, and feeling very happy in being allowed to bask in the warmth of a fire, in a room where nobody threw saucepan lids at her.