Crepitude resolved to end his examination upon this impressive note, and he sat down.  And Alice had Vodrey, K.C., to face.

“You met your husband through a matrimonial agency?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Who first had recourse to the agency?”

“I did.”

“And what was your object?”

“I wanted to find a husband, of course,” she smiled.  “What do people go to matrimonial agencies for?”

“You aren’t here to put questions to me,” said Vodrey severely.

“Well,” she said, “I should have thought you would have known what people went to matrimonial agencies for.  Still, you live and learn.”  She sighed cheerfully.

“Do you think a matrimonial agency is quite the nicest way of——­”

“It depends what you mean by ‘nice,’” said Alice.

“Womanly.”

“Yes,” said Alice shortly, “I do.  If you’re going to stand there and tell me I’m unwomanly, all I have to say is that you’re unmanly.”

“You say you first met your husband outside St George’s Hall?”

“Yes.”

“Never seen him before?”

“No.”

“How did you recognize him?”

“By his photograph.”

“Oh, he’d sent you his photograph?”

“Yes.”

“With a letter?”

“Yes.”

“In what name was the letter signed?”

“Henry Leek.”

“Was that before or after the death of the man who was buried in Westminster Abbey?”

“A day or two before.” (Sensation in court.)

“So that your present husband was calling himself Henry Leek before the death?”

“No, he wasn’t.  That letter was written by the man that died.  My husband found my reply to it, and my photograph, in the man’s bag afterwards; and happening to be strolling past St. George’s Hall just at the moment like—­”

“Well, happening to be strolling past St. George’s Hall just at the moment like—­” (Titters.)

“I caught sight of him and spoke to him.  You see, I thought then that he was the man who wrote the letter.”

“What made you think so?”

“I had the photograph.”

“So that the man who wrote the letter and died didn’t send his own photograph.  He sent another photograph—­the photograph of your husband?”

“Yes, didn’t you know that?  I should have thought you’d have known that.”

“Do you really expect the jury to believe that tale?”

Alice turned smiling to the jury.  “No,” she said, “I’m not sure as I do.  I didn’t believe it myself for a long time.  But it’s true.”

“Then at first you didn’t believe your husband was the real Priam Farll?”

“No.  You see, he didn’t exactly tell me like.  He only sort of hinted.”

“But you didn’t believe?”

“No.”

“You thought he was lying?”

“No, I thought it was just a kind of an idea he had.  You know my husband isn’t like other gentlemen.”