"No more than I think Shepworth murdered Agstone. On your own showing your barrister friend brought the knife to the flat. And it is on the false evidence of the knife, which you and Shepworth supplied, that Inspector Bruge seems to judge Agstone." "Still----" "Oh, don't talk poppy-cock," interrupted the little man impatiently. "You are not polite, Horace." "Was I ever polite?" demanded the other scornfully. "No! To do you justice, you are always consistently rude!" "Then why expect the impossible?" retorted Horace, and again stumbled about the crowded room, swearing softly. When again abreast of Prelice, who was sorely puzzled by this strange conduct, the doctor thrust out a large hairy paw. "Shake," said he brusquely. Prelice did so promptly, and inquired: "Why?" "Because you are giving me pleasure in allowing me to help you." His friend looked at the odd creature perplexedly. "I don't understand what you mean," he declared, frowning. "Never mind," returned Horace, with a chuckle; "when it is necessary for you to understand I'll straighten out things." "Then you have a theory?" "I have more than that; I have certain knowledge." "Of what, in Heaven's name?" "High cockalorum, snip snap snorum," was the jocular and enigmatic reply, "come to my bedroom, and we can chatter while I dress." "Well," said Prelice as he sauntered after his friend, "I am glad that you are not going in that rigout. It isn't the fifth of November." "Silly ass," snapped the traveller; "get a dressed-up doll to help you." "All right. Come to a toy-shop and help me to choose one." Dr. Horace began to laugh. "Why can't you talk sense?" he growled. "I shall do so if you will set the example." "Very good. I have some of the Sacred Herb here. Shall I take it to the New Bailey, and give judge and jury and counsel a practical illustration of how Miss Chent and Shepworth went into trances?" "You can if you like. By the way, did you give any portion of that herb away, Horace?" The doctor, who was plunging his hairy face in water, gurgled and grumbled, but made no reply. Prelice was nettled. "Why can't you be plain with me, confound you?" "All right." Horace began to dry his face vigorously. "I don't believe that Miss Chent is guilty, or that Shepworth killed Agstone." "I knew that before," said Prelice dryly; "you tell me nothing new." "Oh," retorted Horace mockingly, "you want to hear something new, like an Athenian of St. Paul's period. Very good. Do you know why I take so deep an interest in this case?" "No, I don't; unless it is to help me and Ned." "I don't care a red cent about you and Ned. But I care a trifle about Agstone, poor devil." Prelice sat up straight, and stared. "In Heaven's name, why?" "Because," said Dr. Horace slowly, and looking at Prelice's puzzled face in the glass, "because Steve Agstone is my brother." CHAPTER X. THE VERDICT.