“Certainly,” returned Marshall, now thoroughly in control of his feelings. “I will explain. I doubt your story because of its inherent improbability. Further, I doubt it because I knew your father, because I know yourself, and am aware that not even a shameful death on the gibbet could deter you from any purpose which you had come to think your destiny. Again, I doubt it because I know who the real murderer of Mendes is.” The three men who heard these last slow, calm words sprang to their feet together, Fair quivering with a nameless horror, and his two friends delirious with joy. Fair steadied himself against the lawyer’s table and said: “Marshall, this is not the time when you can play with me. I tell you to your face, that when you say that you know who the murderer is, you lie.” The old man showed how deeply the insult cut into him, and facing the young man with his own face as white as Fair’s, he retorted: “Your father’s son can go very far with me, but no man can give me the lie. Recall that word, Fair.” Travers looked imploringly at Fair as he replied. “I do recall it—and beg your pardon,” said Fair eagerly. “I also demand an explanation of your singular conduct.” “If you will all sit down,” replied the solicitor, “I will prove that I am right. But before I do so I want to say that in all my life I never heard of such sublime devotion, such utterly disinterested heroism. Gentlemen, nothing will ever be more of an honor to us than to be called the friends of Maxwell Fair.” “Hear, hear!” shouted Allyne, but Travers said quietly to Marshall: “I fear this is scarcely kind of you just now—look at his face.” The old lawyer looked at Fair, and going over to him grasped his hand. “Forgive me, boy,” he said, “but I meant each word. To end this dreadful business I have merely to state that the unhappy creature who sent the scoundrel to his doom came here not an hour ago and made a full confession.” “And on my honor I swear that every word she said was false,” said Fair. “You, at least, believe me?” asked Marshall, turning to Travers. “Most assuredly,” replied Travers. Fair wheeled round at him, saying: “My God, are you men English gentlemen and going to allow an innocent woman to be hanged in order to save me?” “I seem to hear your father speak in you,” remarked Marshall, “yet there is this difference, Fair. He would have died for a great purpose, but never for a lie or to defeat the ends of justice.” Fair winced at this, and Travers said: “That’s the line, Marshall.” “Not a word he has said can move me,” went on Fair, rising. “I want no man’s forced friendship. I have decided on a course. You choose to allow me to pursue it alone. Good-bye.” He spoke with such feeling, and moved toward the door with so much majesty, that none of them attempted to stop him.