“Is that enough?” Courbertin asked.

“Yes, that will do,” Bill Brown answered.  “But one moment.  Please state again the date of publication.”

“1807, in Warsaw.”

“Hold on, baron,” Del Bishop spoke up.  “Now that you’re on the stand, I’ve got a question or so to slap into you.”  He turned to the court-room.  “Gentlemen, you’ve all heard somewhat of the prisoner’s experiences in Siberia.  You’ve caught on to the remarkable sameness between them and those published by Father Yakontsk nearly a hundred years ago.  And you have concluded that there’s been some wholesale cribbing somewhere.  I propose to show you that it’s more than cribbing.  The prisoner gave me the shake on the Reindeer River in ’88.  Fall of ’88 he was at St. Michael’s on his way to Siberia. ’89 and ’90 he was, by his talk, cutting up antics in Siberia. ’91 he come back to the world, working the conquering-hero graft in ’Frisco.  Now let’s see if the Frenchman can make us wise.

“You were in Japan?” he asked.

Courbertin, who had followed the dates, made a quick calculation, and could but illy conceal his surprise.  He looked appealingly to Frona, but she did not help him.  “Yes,” he said, finally.

“And you met the prisoner there?”

“Yes.”

“What year was it?”

There was a general craning forward to catch the answer.

“1889,” and it came unwillingly.

“Now, how can that be, baron?” Del asked in a wheedling tone.  “The prisoner was in Siberia at that time.”

Courbertin shrugged his shoulders that it was no concern of his, and came off the stand.  An impromptu recess was taken by the court-room for several minutes, wherein there was much whispering and shaking of heads.

“It is all a lie.”  St. Vincent leaned close to Frona’s ear, but she did not hear.

“Appearances are against me, but I can explain it all.”

But she did not move a muscle, and he was called to the stand by the chairman.  She turned to her father, and the tears rushed up into her eyes when he rested his hand on hers.

“Do you care to pull out?” he asked after a momentary hesitation.

She shook her head, and St. Vincent began to speak.  It was the same story he had told her, though told now a little more fully, and in nowise did it conflict with the evidence of La Flitche and John.  He acknowledged the wash-tub incident, caused, he explained, by an act of simple courtesy on his part and by John Borg’s unreasoning anger.  He acknowledged that Bella had been killed by his own pistol, but stated that the pistol had been borrowed by Borg several days previously and not returned.  Concerning Bella’s accusation he could say nothing.  He could not see why she should die with a lie on her lips.  He had never in the slightest way incurred her displeasure, so even revenge could not be advanced.  It was inexplicable.  As for the testimony of Bishop, he did not care to discuss it.  It was a tissue of falsehood cunningly interwoven with truth.  It was true the man had gone into Alaska with him in 1888, but his version of the things which happened there was maliciously untrue.  Regarding the baron, there was a slight mistake in the dates, that was all.