"Yes. If I kill this story, my work here ends. By the standards of those about me I'd be a traitor. I've preached truth without fear or favour--you understand--without fear or favour. I've fought pull with everything I've got. And now you'd have me ... man, it's a test--can't you see--it's a test!" Good's voice changed suddenly. From the court, passing sentence, he had become the condemned, pleading for clemency. The old man drew himself up. "I see. I did not--wholly understand. It is--inevitable." There was indescribable pathos in the resignation with which he spoke. "It is inevitable," he repeated softly. Then he turned to go. "Why don't you see Wynrod?" asked Good with sudden harshness. The other man laughed mirthlessly. "He is the one person from whom I'd keep--this," he said shortly. "He--he--cares for me--now...." Good's voice changed again, and grew soft. "Judge," he asked quietly, almost indifferently, "what caused it all?" The old man's fine white head fell on his chest, and Good felt glad, for him, in his bitter shame, that it was dark. "I had rather not speak of that," he said wearily. "What is done is done." He rose to go. Good waited until his hand was on the doorknob. "Wait," he whispered chokingly. His voice was lifeless. "I was joking, you know. It's all right. It's all right," he repeated, as if the words were forced from him. "The story's dead." "I don't understand...." "The story's killed, I tell you. You can read to-morrow's _Dispatch_ without a tremble." "You mean...?" The old man was clutching at his collar as if it hurt him. "You mean...?" "For the third time--the story's dead." "Did Roger--?" "He knows nothing about it." "Then you--it _was_ you?" "Yes--it was I." The Judge never forgot the unutterable hopelessness of Good's tone as those four words crept slowly from him. "How can I ever...." The old man made for Good, his hand outstretched. But the latter recoiled. "I'd rather you wouldn't. You owe me--nothing." The Judge hesitated, not knowing what to do or say. Good was the first to speak, a subtle note in his voice, not easy to analyse. "That liability law," he said abruptly. "It's constitutional?" "I--er--think so." "You're certain of it?" Good's voice had suddenly become like steel, and the old man seemed to grow visibly smaller before the keen eyes penetrating to the innermost recesses of his soul. "Yes--I--I'm quite sure of it." "Your mind is fully made up, of course." The meaning behind the words was unmistakable. The Judge took his cue at once. "Absolutely." "Good night," said Good. "But I--" The Judge hesitated. "Good night," repeated the tall man with a finality which brooked no question. The old man stood embarrassedly looking at him for a moment. Then he went out, softly closing the door behind him. Good sat staring after him, a crooked little smile twisting his lips, his body looking oddly shrunken and weak.