Beyond the ambiguous letter, no tittle of evidence of her dishonour—­on which the bulk of the case against the prisoner rested—­had been adduced.  As for the motive of political jealousy that had been a mere passing cloud.  The two men had become fast friends.  As to the circumstances of the alleged crime, the medical evidence was on the whole in favour of the time of death being late; and the prisoner had left London at a quarter-past seven.  The drugging theory was absurd, and as for the too clever bolt and lock theories, Mr. Grodman, a trained scientific observer, had pooh-poohed them.  He would solemnly exhort the jury to remember that if they condemned the prisoner they would not only send an innocent man to an ignominious death on the flimsiest circumstantial evidence, but they would deprive the working men of this country of one of their truest friends and their ablest leader.

The conclusion of Sir Charles’s vigorous speech was greeted with irrepressible applause.

Mr. SPIGOT, Q.C., in closing the case for the prosecution, asked the jury to return a verdict against the prisoner for as malicious and premeditated a crime as ever disgraced the annals of any civilised country.  His cleverness and education had only been utilised for the devil’s ends, while his reputation had been used as a cloak.  Everything pointed strongly to the prisoner’s guilt.  On receiving Miss Dymond’s letter announcing her shame, and (probably) her intention to commit suicide, he had hastened upstairs to denounce Constant.  He had then rushed to the girl’s lodgings, and, finding his worst fears confirmed, planned at once his diabolically ingenious scheme of revenge.  He told his landlady he was going to Devonport, so that if he bungled, the police would be put temporarily off his track.  His real destination was Liverpool, for he intended to leave the country.  Lest, however, his plan should break down here, too, he arranged an ingenious alibi by being driven to Euston for the 5.15 train to Liverpool.  The cabman would not know he did not intend to go by it, but meant to return to 11 Glover Street, there to perpetrate this foul crime, interruption to which he had possibly barred by drugging his landlady.  His presence at Liverpool (whither he really went by the second train) would corroborate the cabman’s story.  That night he had not undressed nor gone to bed; he had plotted out his devilish scheme till it was perfect; the fog came as an unexpected ally to cover his movements.  Jealousy, outraged affection, the desire for revenge, the lust for political power—­these were human.  They might pity the criminal, they could not find him innocent of the crime.