"How," she asked the question as though with an effort, "how were you cleared?" "Through expert medical testimony that the blow which killed Langdon could not have been struck with that mallet. The whole trial hinged on the experts. The jury didn't believe much of either side. They couldn't decide absolutely that I had killed Langdon. And so they acquitted me. I'm trying to tell you the truth, without any veneer to my advantage." "_Bon_! Good! Eet is best." "Miss Jierdon is the same one who is out here?" "Yes." "She testified in your behalf?" "Yes. And Miss Robinette, if you'll only talk to her--if you'll only ask her about it, she'll tell you the story exactly as I've told it. She trusted me; she was the only bright spot in all the blackness. I may not be able to convince you--but she could, Miss Robinette. If you'll only--" "Would you guarantee the truth of anything she should tell me?" "Absolutely." "Even if she told hidden things?" "Hidden? I don't know what you mean. There's nothing to be hidden. What she tells you will be the truth, the whole truth, the absolute truth." "I'm--I'm sorry." She turned again to the window. Houston went forward. "Sorry? Why? There's nothing--" "Miss Jierdon has told me," came in a strained voice, "things that perhaps you did not mean for her to tell." "I? Why, I--" "That she did pass as you were struggling. That she saw the blow struck--and that it was you who struck it." "Miss Robinette!" "That further, you confessed to her and told her why you had killed Langdon--because he had discovered something in your own father's life that would serve as blackmail. That she loved you. And that because she loved you, she went on the stand and perjured herself to save you from a conviction of murder--when she knew in her heart that you were guilty!" CHAPTER XIV It was a blow greater, far greater than one that could have been struck in mere physical contact. Houston reeled with the effect of it; he gasped, he struggled aimlessly, futilely, for words to answer it. Vaguely, dizzily, knowing nothing except a dim, hazy desire to rid himself of the loathsomeness of it, Houston started to the door, only to be pulled back in the gigantic grip of Ba'tiste Renaud. The old Canadian was glaring now, his voice was thunderous. "No! No! You shall not go! You hear Ba'teese, huh? You tell Medaine that is a lie! Un'stan'? That is a lie!" "It is," Houston heard his voice as though coming from far away, "but I don't know how to answer it. I--I--can't answer it. Where is Miss Jierdon? Is she here? May I see her?" "Miss Jierdon," Medaine Robinette answered him as though with an effort, "went back to camp last night." "May I bring her here, to repeat that before me? There's been some sort of a horrible mistake--she didn't know what she was saying. She--"