“_To be hanged by the neck until you are dead._” The sentence still rang in Fayre’s ears as his taxi sped through the streets on its way to Miss Allen’s lodgings. He could hear the thin, strained voice of the Judge, an old man nearing death himself, but still, after a long experience on the Bench, shaken and appalled at the awful magnitude of the words he was called upon to utter. Fayre groaned aloud as the full sum of their meaning dawned upon him. Leslie, of whose innocence he was assured, cut off from life just when it was about to mean so much to him and Cynthia! Fayre did not dare to think of Cynthia, waiting, torn between hope and fear, through the long hours in the grey old house where she and Miss Allen lodged. He wished with all his heart that it had not fallen to him to break the news to her. He stopped his cab at the corner of the street and walked the last hundred yards to the house. At least he could save the girl the inevitable rush to the window at the sound of wheels and the moments of suspense while he entered the house and mounted the stairs. As it happened, he found the front door open and reached the sitting-room before she realized his presence in the house. She sprang to her feet as he entered, and Miss Allen instinctively moved to her side. His face must have given him away for, before he opened his lips, she knew. “Guilty!” she gasped. He threw out his hands in a gesture of utter helplessness. “It went against him,” he said, hardly recognizing his own voice. With a little moan of anguish Cynthia turned blindly to the haven of Miss Allen’s arms. She did not cry and, for a moment, he was afraid she had fainted, then, to his relief, Miss Allen led her gently from the room. He stood by the window looking out into the grey, dingy street, waiting for her return. It was some time before Miss Allen rejoined him. “How is she?” he asked eagerly. Miss Allen’s eyes were red and her voice was unsteady as she answered. “As well as she is likely to be for some time,” she said rather tartly. She was suffering from the aftermath of an unaccustomed emotion. “She’s not going to die, if that’s what you mean, but her last hope has just been taken from her. I must go back to her in a minute. If the child had a decent mother I’d send for her.” She crossed to the table and took a cigarette. For a minute or two she smoked in silence. Then she turned to Fayre with a very pleasant smile on her homely face. “I was a bear just now,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I’ve had a bad quarter of an hour. Mr. Fayre, what are we going to do now?” Fayre looked at her with utter misery in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said desperately. “I must see Grey. After that . . . I don’t know.” He buried his face in his hands.