“By now he hates me; every word I speak to him—­still more every word to her—­galls him.  But he controlled himself when I made him tell me the story—­I had no reason to complain—­though every now and then I could see him wince under the knowledge I must needs show of the persons and places concerned—­a knowledge I could only have got from her.  And she stood by meanwhile like a statue.  Not a word, not a look, so far, though she had been forced to touch my hand.  But my instinct saved me.  I roused her—­I played upon her!  I took the line that I was morally certain she had been taking in their tete-a-tete.  Why not a scuffle?—­a general scrimmage?—­in which it was matter of accident who fell?  The man surely was inoffensive and gentle, incapable of deliberate murder.  And as to the evidence of hatred, it told both ways.  He stiffened and was silent.  What a fine brow he has—­a look sometimes, when he is moved, of antique power and probity!  But she—­she trembled—­animation came back.  She would almost have spoken to me—­but I did well not to prolong it—­to hurry on.”

Then he took the telegram out of his pocket which had been put into his hands as he reached the hotel, his mouth quivering again with the exultation which he had felt when he had received it.  It recalled to his ranging memory all the details of his hurried interview with the little Widrington solicitor, who had already scented a job in the matter of Hurd’s defence.  This man—­needy, shrewd, and well equipped with local knowledge—­had done work for Wharton and the party, and asked nothing better than to stand well with the future member for the division.  “There is a lady,” Wharton had said, “the daughter of Mr. Boyce of Mellor, who is already very much interested in this fellow and his family.  She takes this business greatly to heart.  I have seen her this morning, but had no time to discuss the matter with her.  She will, I have little doubt, try to help the relations in the arrangements for the defence.  Go to her this morning—­tell her that the case has my sympathy—­that, as she knows, I am a barrister, and, if she wishes it, I will defend Hurd.  I shall be hard put to it to get up the case with the election coming on, but I will do it—­for the sake of the public interest involved.  You understand?  Her father is a Tory—­and she is just about to marry Mr. Raeburn.  Her position, therefore, is difficult.  Nevertheless, she will feel strongly—­she does feel strongly about this case, and about the whole game system—­and I feel moved to support her.  She will take her own line, whatever happens.  See her—­see the wife, too, who is entirely under Miss Boyce’s influence—­and wire to me at my hotel at Birmingham.  If they wish to make other arrangements, well and good.  I shall have all the more time to give to the election.”

Leaving this commission behind him, he had started on his journey.  At the end of it a telegram had been handed to him on the stairs of his hotel: