man a few seconds after they had been aroused by his death cry-all these will militate against you most dangerously, and there is nothing of a convincing character in our evidence to offset the case against you."

When it is proved that

"Well," said Jack, with a cheery expectancy in his voice, "wait until our man gets back with the pawnbroker's testimony. That ought to make a good point in my favour. one man pawned the knife and a totally different one redeemed it, they will have to believe it was not in my possession.”

The lawyer hesitated; then said with a sigh that plainly voiced his discouragement: "That 's just the news I came to talk over with you and it proves the worst set-back I have had in preparing your case. I find we cannot gain anything by bringing the pawnbroker East, and his book merely shows the pawning of the knife and its redemption on the same day."

"But surely, if it was redeemed so soon by another party, even if he presented the ticket, the pawnbroker would have had his suspicions aroused and would have made some mental note of the appearance of this man. Jack's voice had a note of anxious perplexity in it now and his counsel's slow utterance in response distinctly irritated him.

"The story as given by the pawnbroker is as follows: On a certain day last winter, which is correctly recorded according to your memorandum, a man entered his store in some haste and pawned a hunting-knife. After his departure, he showed the knife to his assistant, who had just returned to the store, remarking on the silver chasing, which was very unusual. The knife was then laid aside and he went out for an hour or so to attend to some business.

"On his return, his assistant remarked that the fellow had come back after his knife. They commented on the matter and came to the conclusion that the man, whoever he was, must have met some friend who helped him out, making the pledging of his possession unnecessary.

"The assistant had not seen Jack, the pawnbroker had not seen the man who presented the ticket. Apparently it never occurred to them to compare notes as to the appearance of their client.

"The matter is further complicated by the fact that the assistant is no longer there. He was dismissed a couple of months ago, and after he was gone, it was found that he had perpetrated some petty thefts, which make it unlikely that he would ever dare to return to that neighbourhood again. He was of foreign birth and the pawn

broker has an idea that he may have returned to his own country. He had frequently spoken of doing so.'

"You have his name? Can we not advertise for him, offering so large a reward for news that it will be an inducement to him to communicate with us?"

"We can try, but it is not likely that the man, knowing himself a thief, will willingly communicate with those who want to ascertain his whereabouts. No reward would be large enough to induce him to face certain imprisonment.

There was a long silence between the lawyer and his client. Then Jack spoke. "It is possible I may receive from my friend in England the letter written at the time that knife was pawned. It was dated from a near-by town. It tells the whole story plainly. That, at least, would be evidence."

"I should be glad indeed to have that letter, but even with it, we are not sure of convincing the jury that you did not yourself redeem the knife, writing the letter afterwards, for some evil purpose of your own."

"My dear sir," broke in Jack impetuously, "you seem to think they will imagine me a monster or a lunatic. From the very first it has seemed to me that anyone would see, on the very face of

it, that a man committing murder with premeditation would take jolly good care not to do so with a knife labelled with his name. I am not an Arsène Lupin to leave my card for the police. Had I wanted to murder a man, I should have shot him, or at least have taken care to do the deed with a weapon that could not connect me with the crime.

"When a man strikes in the heat of anger, he uses what he has at hand," remarked the lawyer.

"Truly," responded Jack, "but we are following up the assumption that the jury has just accepted the theory that I redeemed my knife for the purpose of murder and wrote a letter about it to manufacture evidence. If I was the murderer and committed the deed in the heat of anger, what of the letter? On the other hand, if I wrote that letter and proved thereby I was premeditating crime, why should I plan to use a curious and uncommon weapon bearing my name? Why, that in itself would brand me a lunatic. It seems to me that a very strong hypothesis of innocence can be deduced from this very point, which you seem to believe will tell so strongly against me.'

"Unfortunately, my dear Jack Morris, men accused of homicide are not looked upon as reasonable beings. They are known to do the

most unlikely and erratic things. They cannot be judged as others are, and often the evidence that should clear them finally convicts them. Personally, I thoroughly and whole-heartedly believe you the victim of a strange train of untoward circumstances, the unfortunate plaything of Fate.

"As your counsel, however, I must lay aside my own insight into your character, my own accepted ideas of the points in your case, and I must view you as will those in whose hands your destiny will lie. For this reason I have come to-day to specially urge upon you the wisdom of cabling to the friend who has that letter. Even though the letter itself may not be convincing evidence, we must use it to the best of our power, and should it by ill fortune have been destroyed, we can use its recipient as a witness. Surely you see that the case has assumed an aspect serious enough to warrant our leaving no stone unturned that may reveal a helpful grain of testimony."

Jack's lips had set firmly during this speech. There was a glint in his blue eyes that awoke there whenever his will asserted itself against the opinion of others. "No," he answered with a sternness of determination that revealed his purpose, "my dear sir, when we spoke before of that letter I explained that, for reasons of my own,