“I shall if Draper gives a reasonably straightforward account of himself.”

It appeared that this condition was likely to be fulfilled, for when we arrived at the court-house (where the prisoner was accommodated in a spare office, under rather free-and-easy conditions considering the nature of the charge) we found Mr. Draper in an eminently communicative frame of mind.

“I want you, Dr. Thorndyke, to undertake my defence in this terrible affair, because I feel confident that you will be able to clear me.  And I promise you that there shall be no reservation or concealment on my part of anything that you ought to know.”

“Very well,” said Thorndyke.  “By the way, I see you have changed your shoes.”

“Yes, the sergeant took possession of those I was wearing.  He said something about comparing them with some footprints, but there can’t be any footprints like those shoes here in Sundersley.  The nails are fixed in the soles in quite a peculiar pattern.  I had them made in Edinburgh.”

“Have you more than one pair?”

“No.  I have no other nailed boots.”

“That is important,” said Thorndyke.  “And now I judge that you have something to tell us that bears on this crime.  Am I right?”

“Yes.  There is something that I am afraid it is necessary for you to know, although it is very painful to me to revive memories of my past that I had hoped were buried for ever.  But perhaps, after all, it may not be necessary for these confidences to be revealed to anyone but yourself.”

“I hope not,” said Thorndyke; “and if it is not necessary you may rely upon me not to allow any of your secrets to leak out.  But you are wise to tell me everything that may in any way bear upon the case.”

At this juncture, seeing that confidential matters were about to be discussed, I rose and prepared to withdraw; but Draper waved me back into my chair.

“You need not go away, Dr. Jervis,” he said.  “It is through you that I have the benefit of Dr. Thorndyke’s help, and I know that you doctors can be trusted to keep your own counsel and your clients’ secrets.  And now for some confessions of mine.  In the first place, it is my painful duty to tell you that I am a discharged convict—­an ‘old lag,’ as the cant phrase has it.”

He coloured a dusky red as he made this statement, and glanced furtively at Thorndyke to observe its effect.  But he might as well have looked at a wooden figure-head or a stone mask as at my friend’s immovable visage; and when his communication had been acknowledged by a slight nod, he proceeded: