In common with everyone in the court-room, save Ilingsworth and his daughter, Leslie had expected just such an ending. All through the trial she had longed for the words that would relieve her from the thraldom of uncertainty in which she was held; yet when the foreman had pronounced the verdict it had shocked her inexpressibly, left her indescribably sad. For some moments she had struggled to regain her composure, and fearful of a break-down, she had fled, but not in time to escape seeing Ilingsworth slump down into his seat with a faint moan. At the door the sound of many voices and exclamations of pity had reached her ears. She halted, and looking back she saw that the commotion was the result of some woman who had fainted. And then it was that she saw, too, the never-to-be-forgotten picture of Elinor Ilingsworth, friendless and helpless, looking hopelessly down upon her father while she endeavoured to soothe him with endearing words. Impulsively Leslie had started back, a vague intention of putting her arms around the girl's neck, of taking possession of her, as it were, and carrying her, who needed care so much, to her own home. But like a flash the futility of such a course had dawned upon her. For the realisation had been borne in upon her that it was her own testimony, more than anyone else's, that had been the means of convicting the girl's father; and that for her to offer words of sympathy to the daughter would be a mockery if not an insult. It was, therefore, with a sigh that Leslie had again retraced her steps, forcing herself to be content with giving the girl a glance of infinite pity. * * * * * "Conceding that Leslie's testimony did for him," Wilkinson was now saying to his cronies at his club, gulping down his Scotch, "conceding that, but who set her on--made her testify? It was I who bit into that fellow's heel, and don't you forget that I'm proud of it." Morehead stared through the cloud of collecting smoke. "I wish, Patrick," he proceeded to say to Durand, in his own calm way, "that you could have been there for just one reason: I am anxious to know whether my view of the effect of Peter's testimony on the jury is correct." Patrick Durand waved his hand. "You ought to know, Colonel." "Don't you think it had a good effect on 'em, Morehead?" queried his client. Morehead rose and stretched his legs, and without glancing, even, at Wilkinson, he said bluntly: "Durand, I watched them closely--each one of the twelve. And, mark my words, if it hadn't been for Leslie, I don't believe one man in the twelve would have believed a word that Peter said." Wilkinson turned red. "What the devil do you mean, Morehead?" he roared. "Is this an insult?" Morehead never flinched. "Sit down, Wilkinson," he commanded curtly. "I'm talking to Mr. Durand. What do you think, Patrick?" Patrick Durand glanced over the rims of his glasses at the ceiling. "Representative men, were they, Colonel?" he asked.