The judge bowed his head and waved his gold fountain-pen as an indication that the examination might proceed. The witness said that Lady Penreath was undoubtedly an epileptic, and suffered from attacks extending over twenty years, commencing when her only son was five years old, and continuing till her death ten years ago. For some years the attacks were slight, without convulsions, but ultimately the grand mal became well developed, and several attacks in rapid succession ultimately caused her death. In the witness's opinion epilepsy was an hereditary disease, frequently transmitted to the offspring, if either or both parents suffered from it. "Have you ever seen any signs of epilepsy in Lady Penreath's son--the prisoner at the bar?" asked Sir Herbert, who began to divine the direction of the defence. "Never," replied the witness. "Was he under your care in his infancy and boyhood? I mean were you called in to attend to his youthful ailments?" "Yes, until he went to school." "And was he a normal and healthy boy?" "Quite." "Did you see him when he returned home recently?" asked Mr. Middleheath, rising to re-examine. "Yes." "You are aware he was discharged from the Army suffering from shell-shock?" "Yes." "And did you notice a marked change in him?" "Very marked indeed. He struck me as odd and forgetful at times, and sometimes he seemed momentarily to lose touch with his surroundings. He used to be very bright and good-tempered, but he returned from the war irritable and moody, and very silent, disliking, above all things, to be questioned about his experiences at the front. He used to be the very soul of courtesy, but when he returned from the front he refused to attend a 'welcome home' at the village church and hear the vicar read a congratulatory address." "I hope you are not going to advance the latter incident as a proof of _non compos mentis_, Mr. Middleheath," said the judge facetiously. In the ripples of mirth which this judicial sally aroused, the little doctor was permitted to leave the box, and depart for his native obscurity of Twelvetrees. He had served his purpose, so far as Mr. Middleheath was concerned, and Sir Herbert Templewood was too good a sportsman to waste skilful flies on such a small fish, which would do no honour to his bag if hooked.