“Ah, but the facts are not as you state them,” cried Mrs. Fair, rising and grasping the old man’s hand feverishly. “There was no attack. And, oh, sir, I did it! I did it! I say I! Take me to the police—and make them believe that it was I—or—or—well, I can’t tell you now, but unless you make them believe me, something most horrible will occur. Do this—do this, Mr. Marshall, for God’s sake.” “But we must consider this from every side,” replied Marshall, getting Mrs. Fair into a seat again and continuing his walk. “Give me a little time to think it out. Could you manage to return early in the morning? You are evidently very ill. Rest will refresh you—and, moreover, nothing can be done wisely tonight.” “Very well—but tell me that you believe me—tell me that,” implored Mrs. Fair, rising to go. She was indeed nearly at the end. “Of course I must accept your statement,” answered Marshall with much gentleness. “Yet it by no means follows that the consequences need be what you apprehend. Allow me to show you down to your carriage.” “Here is my statement,” she said as she placed a document on the table and took the arm which the old solicitor offered her. “Act upon it, sir—it is a woman’s last story—written in her blood and that of her children. Act upon it, sir, act upon it—no matter what Mr. Fair says.” “I promise nothing, madam,” replied Marshall, leading her to the door. “You are in no condition to take the best or the wisest view of this most incredible affair. Depend upon it, I shall act only for your best interest and that of Mr. Fair. Come.” He led her down to the street and, after seeing her safely to her carriage, slowly retraced his steps into the quiet precincts of the Temple. When about to enter the door at the foot of his worn stairs, two men came walking quickly from the thoroughfare without, and one of them, recognizing him, said: “This is my friend Allyne—Lord Linklater’s son, you know, Mr. Marshall. May we have a few minutes of your time?—very urgent matter!” “Travers?” said Marshall as he caught sight of his face under the gas lamp. “What on earth brings you to this old graveyard at this time? I know your honored father, Lord Linklater, Mr. Allyne. Come up, gentlemen.” Once more the solicitor entertained no very pleasant conjectures as to the purpose of his visitors, whom he knew to be close personal friends of Maxwell Fair’s. The whole departure was as upsetting as it was sudden. “Rather a beastly time to intrude upon you, Mr. Marshall,” said Travers apologetically as they seated themselves in Marshall’s library. “And on the beastliest sort of business,” put in Allyne. Mr. Marshall, finding nothing particular to say, remained silent. “We were asked to come here this evening by Mr. Maxwell Fair,” said Travers, explaining. “He will be here at ten o’clock.” “Yes?” softly remarked the imperturbable lawyer; “then we will wait.”