"Because it was raining and muddy, and the sidewalks are better in Grace Street. Besides, as my hotel is in Main Street I had to turn south at some point on the journey." "Yes, of course." After a period of silent thinking to no purpose, Jack Towns said: "It's a queer case. All those girls swear you were in the school a little after twelve. Milhauser, if questioned, would have to swear that you left his house at half-past ten. You saw nobody else after that, who could even suggest an alibi. You got to the hotel drenched and dripping, at precisely the time you would have got there if you had been chased out of the school at the time the intruder was. You admit that you passed the school at the time of the disturbance. The case is so clearly made out against you, both by the positive testimony of eyewitnesses, and by all the circumstances, that any jury ever empanelled would have to convict you. Why, I'd feel bound to convict you myself--" "Do you mean that you have the remotest shadow of doubt as to my innocence of this charge?" sternly demanded Westover, rising. "Certainly not. Don't be an idiot. Sit down. But as the case stands we haven't a straw to cling to. We can't impeach the testimony of a dozen high-bred young women, every one of whom swears positively that she knows you well and that she saw you make your escape from the invaded precincts. There is no way in which we can so much as cast a doubt upon your guilt. With the case presented as it stands, any juror who should hesitate to pronounce you guilty would be a perjurer. The only hope is that we may find some way out before the case comes to trial." "When will that be?" asked Boyd Westover, in a tone so stoically calm that Jack Towns looked at him to see what had happened to him. "Are you ill?" he asked. "No, not at all. It is only that I see the utter hopelessness of the case. I am a man condemned to worse than death. But I am a _man_ and must face even such calamity without flinching. When the trial is over, I shall be a convicted felon. It will do no good to assert my innocence. Nobody will believe it--nobody can, in face of the testimony. My life is ruined, my reputation blasted, my doom sealed. But I shall neither whine nor whimper. Now tell me when the blow is to fall? When will the trial occur?" "The court is in session now. The indictment will be found to-morrow, but I shall secure a postponement of the trial until the next term." "Do nothing of the kind. Let the trial come on at once--the sooner the better. Delay will do no sort of good. I believe every accused person is entitled to 'a speedy trial.' Demand that for me, and secure it." Towns argued and pleaded, but to no purpose. He could offer no suggestion of advantage in delay, except by saying: "I have always found it worth while to trust to the unexpected. If we have time, something may happen that we don't anticipate."