“Never you fear,” she said.

They got out of the cab and entered the Sessions House without attracting any particular notice.  The court itself was crowded, for a case which had excited public interest was coming to a conclusion.  The jury had given their verdict, and sentence was being pronounced by Mr. de la Molle, the chairman.

Mr. Quest was sitting at his table below the bench taking some notes.

“There’s your husband,” George whispered, “now do you draw on.”

George’s part in the drama was played, and with a sigh of relief he fell back to watch its final development.  He saw the fierce tall woman slip through the crowd like a snake or a panther to its prey, and some compunction touched him when he thought of the prey.  He glanced at the elderly respectable-looking gentleman by the table, and reflected that he too was stalking his prey—­the old Squire and the ancient house of de la Molle.  Then his compunction vanished, and he rejoiced to think that he would be the means of destroying a man who, to fill his pockets, did not hesitate to ruin the family with which his life and the lives of his forefathers had been interwoven for many generations.

By this time the woman had fought her way through the press, bursting the remaining buttons off her ulster in so doing, and reached the bar which separated spectators from the space reserved for the officials.  On the further side of the bar was a gangway, and beyond it a table at which Mr. Quest sat.  He had been busy writing something all this time, now he rose, passed it to Mr. de la Molle, and then turned to sit down again.

Meanwhile his wife had craned her long lithe body forward over the bar till her head was almost level with the hither edge of the table.  There she stood glaring at him, her wicked face alive with fury and malice, for the brandy she had drunk had caused her to forget her fears.

As Mr. Quest turned, his eye caught the flash of colour from the peacock feather hat.  Thence it travelled to the face beneath.

He gave a gasp, and the court seemed to whirl round him.  The sword had fallen indeed!

“Well, Billy!” whispered the hateful voice, “you see I’ve come to look you up.”

With a desperate effort he recovered himself.  A policeman was standing near.  He beckoned to him, and told him to remove the woman, who was drunk.  The policeman advanced and touched her on the arm.

“Come, you be off,” he said, “you’re drunk.”

At that moment Mr. de la Molle ceased giving judgment.

“I ain’t drunk,” said the woman, loud enough to attract the attention of the whole court, which now for the first time observed her extraordinary attire, “and I’ve a right to be in the public court.”

“Come on,” said the policeman, “the clerk says you’re to go.”

“The clerk says so, does he?” she answered, “and do you know who the clerk is?  I’ll tell you all,” and she raised her voice to a scream; “he’s my husband, my lawful wedded husband, and here’s proof of it,” and she took the folded certificate from her pocket and flung it so that it struck the desk of one of the magistrates.