“It’s out of our hands,” said Miss Allen softly. “How pitifully small we human beings feel when the big things happen. That child upstairs, with no experience of life to guide her, is dealing with something infinitely larger than anything I have ever known and I cannot help her. She must find her own way out, Mr. Fayre. On my word, I believe I would rather be John Leslie!” “And I,” answered Fayre, rising to his feet. “This is not the first time he has faced death gallantly and, as I grow older, I begin to wonder if it is as terrible a thing as we think. But to live on, with all the light taken from your life! I wish I knew what to do,” he finished abruptly. Miss Allen stared at him, puzzled. “He’ll appeal, of course?” “I suppose so, but there’s no hope there, I’m afraid. I can imagine no reason for upsetting the verdict. Kean was magnificent, but the facts were too strong for him. Don’t let Cynthia count on it.” They talked for a few minutes and then he hurried back to his hotel, hoping to catch Grey. The solicitor was waiting for him in their joint sitting-room. “Sir Edward has gone back to town,” he said. “He could not wait. He told me to say that he was sorry to have missed you. He’s sick over this business. I’ve never seen a man so cut up at losing a case.” “You’ll appeal, I suppose?” “Of course, but I’m not sanguine; neither is Sir Edward.” Fayre looked him straight in the eyes. “What’s your honest opinion?” he asked. Grey hesitated for a moment. Then: “I think it’s absolutely hopeless,” he said frankly. “Nothing short of a miracle can save Leslie now.” “So that an appeal will simply mean the infliction of quite unnecessary anguish on two people who have already had more than their share of suffering?” “I suppose you can put it that way,” answered Grey soberly. “All the same, it’s his last chance and we can’t afford not to take it.” Fayre nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll travel up with you,” he said. “Have I time to pack?” “Plenty. I’m off to see Leslie. I’d hoped you might stay on and have a few words with him before he is moved. I think I can work it and it would mean a lot to him now.” The distress on Fayre’s face deepened, but his lips were set in an obstinate line. “I’m sorry,” he said firmly, “but I must get up to town at once. I’d stay if I could, and anyhow I’ll run down again later.” “Any message for him?” “Tell him we’re not beaten yet,” said Fayre cryptically. Grey raised his eyebrows. “What’s the idea?” he asked. “I don’t know. I wish to goodness I did!” was Fayre’s rejoinder as he disappeared into his room to pack. He and Grey reached London in the small hours of the morning. Fayre drove straight to his club and forced himself to take a couple of hours’ rest, but he did not sleep and by nine o’clock he had bathed and breakfasted and was on his way to Kean’s Chambers.