“Very well, then, and listen to this. If the gentleman spoke true, Joshua had fallen _in Scyllam cupiens vitare Charybdim_, which means that he had jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire, or, in other words had, in trying to catch the Insurance gentleman, been nabbed himself by the law. For arson is arson, and fraud fraud, and the gentleman with the watch-chain isn’t to be caught with a pinch of salt on his tail. But that was not the worst. Human bones had been found among the _débris_ of the building, and ugly rumours got about that these bones were Abel’s bones--the bones of an unhappy victim of Joshua’s murderous hate. The man had disappeared, the brothers’ deadly quarrel was recalled; it was whispered that the fire might owe itself to a double motive--that, in short, Joshua had designed, at one blow, to secure the thousand pounds and destroy the evidences of a great crime. Joshua, sir, was arrested and put upon his trial for murder and arson.” I was listening with all my eyes and ears. “Who defended him?” I whispered, gulping; for I knew something of the legal terms. The answer took me like a smack. “Your father, sir.” “O!” I exclaimed, thrilling. And then, after a pause, with a pride of loyalty: “He got him off, didn’t he?” Mr. Quayle put me down, and yawned dyspeptically. “What!” he said. “If any man can, papa will. I ask your pardon, Master Dicky, I really do, for palming off fact instead of fiction on you. But my poor brain wasn’t equal. The case is actually _sub judice_--being tried at this moment. Yesterday began it, and to-day will end. If you whisper to me to-night, I’ll whisper back the result.” The delay seemed insupportable. He had read and worked me up to the last chapter of the story, and now proposed to leave me agonising for the end. It was the first time I had ever been brought so close to the living romance of the law, and my blood was on fire with the excitement of it. “O, I wish----” I began. The barrister looked down at me oddly, and shook his head. “Ah, you little rogue!” he chuckled. I felt too guilty to speak. He knew all that was in my mind. Suddenly he took my hand. “Come along, then,” he said, “and let’s have a peep. Papa needn’t know.” He shouldn’t have tempted me, nor should I have succumbed. A murder romance was no book for a child, though my father figured in it as a Paladin championing the wronged and oppressed. I hung back a moment, but the creature cooed and whistled to me. “Come and see Joshua,” he said, “with his back to the wall, and papa in front daring ’em all to come on.” The picture was irresistible. I let myself be persuaded and run out, tingling all over.