‘I may save the court some trouble,’ he said, rising. ‘The will is here. The draft seems to have been destroyed as waste-paper. Messrs. Hatchett’s managing clerk is here; and he will tell you, sir, that he has searched everywhere for it, and it cannot be found. But to my mind that is of little importance. My client is accused of altering a will. Here is the will. It is evident on the face of it that it has not been altered.’ A long wrangle followed upon this point; and eventually the magistrate decided that he could not commit the defendant upon the charge of altering the will. ‘At least, sir,’ said Mr. Champneys, ‘as the defendant would have gained largely by the fraud, had it not been detected, there was an attempt to obtain money by the false pretence, made in reading the will to his uncle, that the words in the will were “five hundred thousand pounds.”’ Another wrangle ensued upon this point, Mr. Corker arguing, with much scorn of his opponent’s contentions, that no attempt had yet been made by the accused to get the money, that it could only be obtained from the executors, whereas the alleged false pretence had been made to the testator, and so forth. After half an hour’s argument, Mr. Mallison came to the conclusion that he could not commit the defendant for trial upon that charge, any more than he could upon that of altering the will; and Mr. Corker, muttering his satisfaction, began to fold up the sheet of paper which had done duty as his brief. Dr. Mackenzie was amazed, bewildered, shocked. Was the culprit going to escape after all? Was he not to be allowed even to tell his story to the magistrate? He tried to speak to his solicitor; but the solicitor would not listen. He stood up, and laying his hand on his counsel’s arm, whispered: ‘It was the draft he altered, not the will.’ ‘Pardon me, sir,’ said Mr. Champneys to the magistrate, after a moment’s thought; ‘it is at least clear that the defendant can be indicted for altering the draft (which would in the circumstances be forgery), and for uttering the forged draft.’ ‘There’s nothing about forgery, or uttering a forged draft here,’ said Mr. Corker, with an angry frown, waving the summons in the face of the bench. ‘True; but now I apply for a summons. Perhaps your worship would order that it be served at once,’ and Mr. Champneys glanced in Alec’s direction with a look that was both uneasy and insulting. Before Mr. Corker could intervene, Alec sprang to his feet. ‘I am perfectly willing that the summons should be issued and heard now,’ he cried. Mr. Corker turned upon him with a scowl. Mr. Mallison regarded him gravely over the top of his spectacles. ‘You have no objection, I suppose, Mr. Corker,’ said the magistrate. The barrister growled something by way of reply, as he turned to confer with Beattie. ‘Seems as if he rather wanted to be locked up,’ whispered Mr. Corker.