“Tell us, quick.  Did he try to get hands on it?”

“Perhaps; what then?”

“And did he get it?”

“No.”

“And why not—­why not?”

The anger of the witness threw him off his guard.

“Because a cursed scoundrel stepped in and threatened to hang him if he touched the woman’s money.”

“Aye, aye! and who was that cursed scoundrel?”

No answer.

“Who, quick, who?”

“That man there!” pointing to Ralph.

Loud murmurs came from the people in the court.  In the midst of them a woman was creating a commotion.  She insisted on going out.  She cried aloud that she would faint.  It was Mrs. Garth again.  The sheriff leaned over the table to ask if these questions concerned the inquiry, but Sim gave no time for protest.  He never paused to think if his inquiries had any bearing on the issue.

“And now tell the court your name.”

“I have told it.”

“Your true name, and your brother’s.”

Justice Hide looked steadily at the witness.  He held an open book in his hand.

“Your true name,” he said, repeating Sim’s inquiry.

“Mark Garth!” mumbled the witness.  The judge appeared to expect that reply.

“And your brother’s?”

“Wilson Garth.”

“Remove the perjurer in charge.”

Sim sank back exhausted, and looked about him as one who had been newly awakened from a dream.

The feeling among the spectators, as also among the jurors, wavered between sympathy for the accused and certainty of the truth of the accusation, when the sheriff was seen to step uneasily forward and hand a paper to counsel.  Glancing hastily at the document, the lawyer rose with a smile of secure triumph and said that, circumstantial as the evidence on all essential points had hitherto been, he was now in a position to render it conclusive.

Then handing the paper to Ralph, he asked him to say if he had ever seen it before.  Ralph was overcome; gasping as if for breath, he raised one hand involuntarily to his breast.

“Tell the court how you came by the instrument in your hand.”

There was no reply.  Ralph had turned to Sim, and was looking into his face with what appeared to be equal pity and contrition.

The paper was worn, and had clearly been much and long folded.  It was charred at one corner as if at some moment it had narrowly escaped the flames.

“My lords,” said counsel, “this is the very warrant which the deceased Wilson carried from Carlisle for the arrest of the prisoner who now holds it; this is the very warrant which has been missing since the night of the murder of Wilson; and where, think you, my lords, it was found?  It was found—­you have heard how foolish be the wise—­look now how childishly a cunning man can sometimes act, how blundering are clever rogues!—­it was found this morning on the defendant Ray’s person while he slept, in an inner breast pocket, which was stitched up, and seemed to have been rarely used.”