For nearly a minute I did not speak. All the time I felt John's calm gaze, puzzled, inquisitive, fixed upon me. I had gone through enough unhappiness during these past weeks to last me a lifetime, but all that I had endured would be as nothing by comparison with this. I could not blind myself to one fact--I had poisoned old Taylor deliberately. Had I, by some hideous miscalculation, the result of ignorance, overdosed him, and brought his poor old life to a premature end? I might be charged with manslaughter. Or worse! Why! I might be convicted of murder. I might even be hanged! The grim thought held me breathless. And Vera--my thoughts fled to her at once--what would become of Vera? Even if I were only imprisoned, and only for a short spell, Vera would have none to look to for help, none to defend her. She would be at the mercy of her persecutors! I think that thought appalled me even more than the thought that I might be tried for manslaughter or murder. "Oh," I said at last to John, "it's some mistake. The police have made some grotesque blunder. You had better show them up, and I will talk to them." No blunder had been made, and I knew it. I must say that I was surprised at the officers' extreme courtesy. Seeing they were about to arrest me on suspicion of having caused a man's death, their politeness, their consideration for my feelings, had a touch of irony. They waited while I had my bath and dressed. Then we all drove together to the police-station, chatting quite pleasantly on topics of passing interest. At the police-station my name and address and many other particulars, were taken down in writing. With the utmost gravity a pompous inspector asked me "what birthmarks I possessed, if any," and various other questions ending with "if any." I wondered whether, before he had done, he would ask me my sex--if any. Nearly a month dragged on--days of anxiety, which seemed years, and I had had no word from Vera! I shall never forget that trial--never. My opinion of legal procedure, never high, sank to zero before the trial at the London Sessions ended. The absurdity of some of the questions asked by counsel; the impossible inferences drawn from quite ordinary occurrences; the endless repetitions of the same questions, but in different sets of words; the verbal quibbling and juggling; the transposing of statements made in evidence and conveying a meaning obvious to the lowest intelligence; the pathos indulged in when the old man's end came to be described; the judge's weak attempts at being witty; the red-tapeism; the unpardonable waste of time--and of public money. No, I shall never forget those days.