A peculiar light shot through Gastineau’s eyes, the gleam in those of a lazy beast of prey roused by the sign of a prowling rival. “You have seen the Countess--already?” he enquired, with the suggestion of a sneer. “Naturally. Young Bowyer and I went to Green Street as soon as we had satisfied ourselves about the depositions.” With Gastineau’s smile the sneer was more apparent. “A personal interest in one’s client,” he remarked, “is charming, but hardly business-like. It is apt to warp the judgment, my dear Geoffrey. I fancy there is more than professional _kudos_ at stake here. You want this new evidence to be conclusive and overwhelming, consequently you fancy it is all you desire. I fear that, for the first time in our partnership, my dry precepts and unprejudiced advice will be unheeded.” “I don’t know why you should say that,” Herriard protested, flushing slightly. Gastineau laughed. “My dear fellow, if I could not see what is so fairly obvious, I should not be of much use as your guide, philosopher and friend. I don’t blame you. Countess Alexia is, no doubt, a very handsome and fascinating woman, and even lawyers have hearts, although they don’t often get credit for them.” Herriard laughed, perhaps to cover his discomposure. It is in the early stages of affairs of the heart that intrusiveness is strongly resented. “Your vision is keen enough, my dear Gastineau; so keen that it seems superfluous to eke it out with imagination.” “Is it imagination?” The question was put sharply, searchingly, and Herriard rather winced under it. “I’m afraid it is,” he answered. “Nevertheless it might not be a bad thing for me if there were to be some truth in it; don’t you think so?” The inscrutable light was in Gastineau’s eyes; an expression which gave no clue as to the man’s intentions or feelings. A very mask it was to the working of the busy brain. “That is a question which I must confess my utter inability to answer off-hand,” he replied, as the eyes half closed, veiling the enigmatical light within. “It might be a good thing; it might be a very bad thing.” “How do you mean?” “The case, the lady’s character, is _sub judice_,” Gastineau laughed. “You had better pause in any step you may be contemplating till the verdict has been given.” Herriard rose. “My dear Gastineau, I don’t know whether you are joking, but surely you must know that Countess Alexia is absolutely innocent of this monstrous charge.” Gastineau, however, looked anything but convinced. He shook his head half-humourously albeit there was no humour in the sharp eyes. “Beware, my son, of allowing your judgment to be warped by personal considerations.” “Personal considerations?” Herriard burst out. “I hope I am not such a fool. But I would stake my reputation, my very existence, on the fact that the Countess had no more to do with Martindale’s death than you or I.”