“He will be!” cried the old lawyer, “for perjury in open court! I am _not_ surmising, Your Honor. I can prove the truth of everything I have implied, sir. I was fortunate enough to get hold of the number of that car. Through the number I traced the occupants. Happily for the good of our humanity, sir, there is always to be found among a group of young men, however wild, one who will tell the truth. Such a one is young John Duckett, who was in that car that night.” He turned to the court-room. “Mr. Court Crier--call John Duckett into court!” * * * * * At one side of the witness chair that sat high above the main court-room, and which was on a level with the judge’s seat, ran a railing. And now Frank Blainey, who had been growing whiter and whiter, turned sideways, his arm on this railing, and buried his face in his arm, his fingers clutching at his hair. With a cry, Mrs. Blainey sprang to her feet and started forward. The voice of the judge was clear and compelling. “Keep your seat, madam. Stay where you are, the rest of you. This witness has not fainted. Mr. Crier, one minute. Do not call the other witness until I so instruct you. Mr. Blainey, here, seems to have something on his mind. Mr. Blainey?” Blainey raised his face. The glance he shot at Donaldson was a bit wild, a bit vicious, too. His hair was all disheveled. He sat limp in his chair. The judge, turning toward him, went on. “Mr. Blainey, if you have anything to say concerning the facts implied in Colonel Donaldson’s questions, you are at liberty to speak, sir. Otherwise this witness, Mr. Duckett, will be called. My advice to you, Mr. Blainey, is that you speak.” The court-room was straining forward now; hundreds of tense faces were turned toward the witness chair, faces strained in the effort to hear the mumbling, halting, reluctant words. “I--I-- Aw, it’s all true!” “Sit up, Mr. Blainey!” commanded the judge. “Look at me, sir. You have perjured yourself in this court! That is a grave offense; but it is as nothing, sir, compared with the motive behind that perjury. In order to save your practices from exposure, you would have sent an old man to prison, probably for the remainder of his natural life. I have no words strong enough, sir, to express my abhorrence, and the abhorrence of all men, of what you’ve done! Are you listening, Mr. Blainey?” Again the vicious glance around, followed by the bowed head, and a nod. “But,” continued the judge, “the law puts in my hands the means of punishing you. By your own confession, you have committed perjury, and perjury is punished by a long jail sentence and a heavy fine. Combined, they will not be sufficient for your offense, but they will be enough, sir, to make you remember all the rest of your days--” And now he stopped, for from his seat, face quivering, old Jeff had sprung to his feet. “Jedge!” he cried. “Don’t send him to the pen, Jedge! Jedge, he’s Sam Blainey’s son!”