“I’m sorry, sir,” he said jerkily, “but it’s a devilish ordeal.  What a life I’ve led this past week!  If you only knew—­could only realize!  It tears a man’s nerves to atoms.  I’ve almost given up hope—­”

Cleek took the hand and held it.

“Never do that, Merriton, never do that,” he said softly.  “I’ve been through the mill myself once—­years ago now, but the scar still stays—­and it’ll be a bit more red hell for the present.  But if there’s any saving you, any proving this thing right up to the hilt, I’ll do it.  That’s all I wanted to say.  Good-bye, and—­buck up.  I’m going to speak to the little girl now, and cheer her up, too.  You’ll hear everything as it comes along.”

He squeezed the hand, manacled so grimly to the other, and smiled a smile brimming over with hope and promise.

“God bless you, Mr.—­Headland,” Merriton replied, and as Cleek beckoned to the two policemen, took his stand between them and entered the closed vehicle.  The door shut, the engine purred, and the car shot away up the road toward the local police-station, leaving the man and the girl staring after it, the same mute sorrow and sympathy shining in both pairs of eyes.

As it disappeared round a corner, ’Toinette turned to Cleek, her whole agonized heart in her eyes.

“Mr. Headland!” she broke out with a gush of tears.  “Oh, m’sieur, if you did but know—­could but understand all that my poor heart suffers for that innocent boy!  It is breaking every minute, every hour.  Is there nothing, nothing that can be done to save him?  I’d stake my very life on his innocence!”

Cleek let his hand rest for a moment upon the fragile shoulder, and looked down into the pallid face.

“I know you would,” he said softly, “for even I know and understand what the love of a good woman may do to a man.  But, tell me.  That story of the revolver—­your revolver.  You can vouch for it?  Your uncle did kill the dog Franco with it?  You can remember?  Forgive me for asking, or questioning for a moment the evidence which Mr. Brellier has given, but I am anxious to save that boy from the hands of the law, and for that reason no stone must be left unturned, no secret kept silent.  Carry your mind back to that time, and tell me if that is true.”

She puckered her brows together as if in perplexity and tapped one slim, perfectly-manicured finger against her white teeth.

“Yes,” she said at last; “yes, it was every bit of it true—­every bit, Mr. Headland.  For the moment, in that room of terror, I had forgotten poor Franco’s death.  But now—­yes, I can remember it all fully.  My uncle spoke the truth, Mr. Headland—­I can promise you that.”

Cleek sighed.  Then: 

“But it was your revolver he used, Miss Brellier?  Try to remember.  He said that he told you of it at the time.  Can you recollect your uncle telling you that he used your revolver to shoot the dog with, or not?  That is what I want to know.”