Then the house let go, strangers and all. Even Mr. Burgess’s gravity broke down presently, then the audience considered itself officially absolved from all restraint, and it made the most of its privilege. It was a good long laugh, and a tempestuously wholehearted one, but it ceased at last--long enough for Mr. Burgess to try to resume, and for the people to get their eyes partially wiped; then it broke out again, and afterward yet again; then at last Burgess was able to get out these serious words: “It is useless to try to disguise the fact--we find ourselves in the presence of a matter of grave import. It involves the honour of your town--it strikes at the town’s good name. The difference of a single word between the test-remarks offered by Mr. Wilson and Mr. Billson was itself a serious thing, since it indicated that one or the other of these gentlemen had committed a theft--” The two men were sitting limp, nerveless, crushed; but at these words both were electrified into movement, and started to get up. “Sit down!” said the Chair, sharply, and they obeyed. “That, as I have said, was a serious thing. And it was--but for only one of them. But the matter has become graver; for the honour of _both_ is now in formidable peril. Shall I go even further, and say in inextricable peril? _Both_ left out the crucial fifteen words.” He paused. During several moments he allowed the pervading stillness to gather and deepen its impressive effects, then added: “There would seem to be but one way whereby this could happen. I ask these gentlemen--Was there _collusion_?--_agreement_?” A low murmur sifted through the house; its import was, “He’s got them both.” Billson was not used to emergencies; he sat in a helpless collapse. But Wilson was a lawyer. He struggled to his feet, pale and worried, and said: