“Leave it to me and to Burrell to arrange. If things were not going right, my experience teaches me that that astute gentleman would have shown signs of dissatisfaction before now. He has got his nose on the trail, you may be sure, and if I know anything about him, he will not leave it for a moment.” “But do you think he will be able to prove my innocence?” asked Godfrey. “All in good time, my dear sir, all in good time,” said the lawyer. “With me for your lawyer (pardon the boast), Rolland for your counsel, Dick Horsden and Braithwaite with him, and Burrell for the ferret that is to make the rabbits bolt, you could not be better served. For my own part, I wouldn’t mind making you a bet--and as a rule I am not a man who gambles--that the last-named gentleman has already acquired sufficient information to secure your return to Detwich with an unblemished character.” “Then do so by all means,” said Godfrey. “I will take it with the greatest pleasure in the world.” “Very well then,” answered the lawyer. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’ve a junior clerk who has the making of a man in him, but who is in consumption. The doctors tell me that, unless he is sent for a long sea voyage to the other side of the world, he will not live a year. I have promised to send him to the South Seas, and, if you like, this shall be our bet: If you get off scot-free, you pay all his expenses--something like five hundred pounds--and also give him five hundred pounds to go on with. If you don’t, then I pay. Will you agree to that?” “With all the pleasure in the world,” Godfrey replied. “Then it’s settled. And now I must be going. Good-bye.” They shook hands, and then the lawyer took his departure, leaving Godfrey happier than he had been for some time past. The month that separated the magistrate’s inquiry from the Sessions at the Old Bailey seemed to Godfrey like an eternity. Day after day crept slowly by, with but little, if anything, to relieve the monotony. He took his daily exercise, kept his cell in spotless order, received visits from the lawyer, who came to report progress, and from Sir Vivian, who brought messages of hope and encouragement from the folk at home. On one red-letter day he was informed that visitors had arrived to see him, and he was accordingly conducted to the room where he had on several occasions interviewed his lawyer. The warder opened the door and he entered, to be nearly overwhelmed by surprise. Standing by her father’s side, at the farther end of the room, and waiting to receive him, was no less a person than Molly herself. She ran forward and threw herself into his arms. “Molly, Molly,” he faltered, “what does this mean? Why are you here? You should not distress yourself like this.”