“You would most likely be right; possibly be wrong,” Gastineau returned, in the drily sententious tone he could assume when direct argument seemed inexpedient. “Do you mean to say,” Herriard demanded warmly, “that you really believe her guilty?” “I mean to say,” Gastineau rejoined, stretching out his hand with a smile, “that I am not going to quarrel with you about it; so good-night.” Herriard took his hand. “Gastineau,” he said, almost imploringly, “do, for pity’s sake, look at this affair with a more charitable eye.” “Of course I will, my dear fellow,” the other responded, with an almost affectionate touch and tighter clasp of the hand. “Of course I will. Only you must remember, if I am to be of any service to you in this business, that the charitable is not necessarily the legal or the correct view of the possibilities of the case.” The manner in which he spoke was so winning that all Herriard’s soreness left him. But he judged it wise to discuss the case no further that evening. When, after a few words more, he turned to go, Gastineau called him back. “By the way, Geof, for we must not let my scepticism burke this evidence altogether, what sort of a man was this that Campion saw? He described him?” “A dark, thin man.” “H’m! A trifle vague. Anything more?” “Bowyers have the full description. Naturally--always supposing his evidence to be genuine--he would have noticed him particularly.” “No doubt,” Gastineau agreed, with a recurring touch of scepticism. “He is sure he would recognize the man again?” “Oh, absolutely confident. I heard him say so.” “Well, it is a comparatively narrow circle,” Gastineau remarked, still with the incredulous smile. “The man must, in all probability, have been either a guest or a waiter.” “Campion says he looked like a gentleman.” “Ah! Then Bowyer had better get a list of the guests and set about identifying him. Good-night.” CHAPTER XI HERRIARD AND ALEXIA