Thresk agreed without a moment’s hesitation.

“But that’s the truth, Mr. Pettifer,” he said, and Mr. Pettifer sprang up.

“What?”

“Consider my position”—­Thresk drew up his chair close to the table—­“a barrister who was beginning to have one of the large practices, the Courts opening in London, briefs awaiting me, cases on which I had already advised coming on.  I had already lost a fortnight.  That was bad enough, but if I came forward with my story I must wait in Bombay not merely for a fortnight but until the whole trial was completed, as in the end I had to do.  Of course I hoped that the prosecution would break down.  Of course I didn’t intervene until it was absolutely necessary in the interests of justice that I should.”

He spoke so calmly, there was so much reason in what he said, that Pettifer could not but be convinced.

“I see,” he said.  “I see.  Yes.  That’s not to be disputed.”  He remained silent for a few moments.  Then he shuffled his papers together and replaced them in the envelope.  It seemed that his examination was over.  Thresk rose from his chair.

“You have no more questions to ask me?” he inquired.

“One more.”

Pettifer came round the table and stood in front of Henry Thresk.

“Did you know Mrs. Ballantyne before you went to Chitipur?”

“Yes,” Thresk replied.

“Had you seen her lately?”

“No.”

“When had you last seen her?”

“Eight years before, in this neighbourhood.  I spent a holiday close by.  Her father and mother were then alive.  I had not seen her since.  I did not even know that she was in India and married until I was told so in Bombay.”

Thresk was prepared for that question.  He had the truth ready and he spoke it frankly.  Mr. Pettifer turned away to Hazlewood, who was watching him expectantly.

“We have nothing more to do, Hazlewood, but to thank Mr. Thresk for answering our questions and to apologise to him for having put them.”

Mr. Hazlewood was utterly disconcerted.  After all, then, the marriage must take place; the plot had ignominiously failed, the great questions which were to banish Stella Ballantyne from Little Beeding had been put and answered.  He sat like a man stricken by calamity.  He stammered out reluctantly a few words to which Thresk paid little heed.

“You are satisfied then?” he asked of Pettifer; and Pettifer showed him unexpectedly a cordial and good-humoured face.

“Yes.  Let me say to you, Mr. Thresk, that ever since I began to study this case I have wished less and less to bear hardly upon Mrs. Ballantyne.  As I read those columns of evidence the heavy figure of Stephen Ballantyne took life again, but a very sinister life; and when I look at Stella and think of what she went through during the years of her married life while we were comfortably here at home I cannot but feel a shiver of discomfort.  Yes, I am satisfied and I am glad that I am satisfied”; and with a smile which suddenly illumined his dry parched face he held out his hand to Henry Thresk.