‘Well, yes, it’s sad enough.  If you could see my house, you’d say so.’

‘I haven’t a doubt but what you’re as innocent as I am.’  Mr Toogood, as he said this, felt a little tinge of conscience.  He did believe Mr Crawley to be innocent, but he was not so sure of it as his words would seem to imply.  Nevertheless he repeated the words again—­’as innocent as I am.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Mr Crawley.  ’I don’t know.  I think I am; but I don’t know.’

’I believe you are.  But you see the case is a very distressing one.  A jury has a right to say that the man in possession of a cheque for twenty pounds should account for his possession of it.  If I understand the story aright, Mr Soames will be able to prove that he brought the cheque into your house, and, as far as he knows, never took it out again.’

’I suppose so; all the same, if he brought it in, then did he take it out again.’

’I am saying what he will prove—­or, in other words, what he will state upon oath.  You can’t contradict him.  You can’t get into the box to do it—­even if that would be of any avail; and I am glad that you cannot, as it would be of no avail.  And you can put no one else into the box who can do so.’

‘No; no.’

’That is to say, we think you cannot do so.  People can do so many things that they don’t think they can do; and can’t do so many things that they think that they can do!  When will the dean be home?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Before the trial?’

‘I don’t know.  I have no idea.’

’It’s almost a toss-up whether he’d do more harm or good if he were there.’

’I wish he might be there if he has anything to say, whether it might be for harm or good.’

‘And Mrs Arabin;—­she is with him?’

‘They tell me she is not.  She is in Europe.  He is in Palestine.’

‘In Palestine, is he?’

’So they tell me.  A dean can go where he likes.  He has no cure of souls to stand in the way of his pleasures.’

’He hasn’t—­hasn’t he?  I wish I were a dean; that is, if I were not a lawyer.  Might I write a line to the dean—­and to Mrs Dean if it seemed fit?  You wouldn’t mind that?  As you have come to see your cousin at last—­and very glad I am that you have—­you must leave him a little discretion.  I won’t say anything I oughtn’t to say.’  Mr Crawley opposed this scheme for some time, but at last consented to the proposition.  ’And I’ll tell you what, Mr Crawley; I am very fond of cathedrals, I am indeed; and I have long wanted to see Barchester.  There’s a very fine what-you-may-call-em; isn’t there?  Well; I’ll just run down at the assizes.  We have nothing to do in London when the judges are in the country—­of course.’  Mr Toogood looked into Mr Crawley’s eyes as he said this, to see if his iniquity were detected, but the perpetual curate was altogether innocent in these matters.  ’Yes; I’ll just run down for a mouthful of fresh air.  Of course I shan’t open my mouth in court.  But I might say one word to the dean, if he’s there;—­and one word to Mr Soames.  Who is conducting the prosecution?’ Mr Crawley said that Mr Walker was doing so.  ’Walker, Walker, Walker? oh—­yes; Walker and Winthrop, isn’t it?  A decent sort of man, I suppose?’