absolute, and the place of her refuge a mystery.  A theory has been suggested which drags an honoured name in the mire—­a theory so superflous that I shall only allude to it.  That Arthur Constant could have seduced, or had any improper relations with his friend’s betrothed is a hypothesis to which the lives of both give the lie.  Before leaving London—­or England—­Miss Dymond wrote to her aunt in Devonport—­her only living relative in this country—­asking her as a great favour to forward an addressed letter to the prisoner, a fortnight after receipt.  The aunt obeyed implicitly.  This was the letter which fell like a thunderbolt on the prisoner on the night of December 3rd.  All his old love returned—­he was full of self-reproach and pity for the poor girl.  The letter read ominously.  Perhaps she was going to put an end to herself.  His first thought was to rush up to his friend, Constant, to seek his advice.  Perhaps Constant knew something of the affair.  The prisoner knew the two were in not infrequent communication.  It is possible—­my lord and gentlemen of the jury, I do not wish to follow the methods of the prosecution and confuse theory with fact, so I say it is possible—­that Mr. Constant had supplied her with the L25 to leave the country.  He was like a brother to her, perhaps even acted imprudently in calling upon her, though neither dreamed of evil.  It is possible that he may have encouraged her in her abnegation and in her altruistic aspirations, perhaps even without knowing their exact drift, for does he not speak in his very last letter of the fine female characters he was meeting, and the influence for good he had over individual human souls?  Still, this we can now never know, unless the dead speak or the absent return.  It is also not impossible that Miss Dymond was entrusted with the L25 for charitable purposes.  But to come back to certainties.  The prisoner consulted Mr. Constant about the letter.  He then ran to Miss Dymond’s lodgings in Stepney Green, knowing beforehand his trouble would be futile.  The letter bore the postmark of Devonport.  He knew the girl had an aunt there; possibly she might have gone to her.  He could not telegraph, for he was ignorant of the address.  He consulted his ‘Bradshaw,’ and resolved to leave by the 5.30 A.M. from Paddington, and told his landlady so.  He left the letter in the ‘Bradshaw,’ which ultimately got thrust among a pile of papers under the sofa, so that he had to get another.  He was careless and disorderly, and the key found by Mr. Wimp in his sofa, which he was absurdly supposed to have hidden there after the murder, must have lain there for some years, having been lost there in the days when he occupied the bedroom afterwards rented by Mr. Constant.  For it was his own sofa, removed from that room, and the suction of sofas was well known.  Afraid to miss his train, he did not undress on that distressful night.  Meantime the thought occurred to him that Jessie was too clever a girl