“That is good news.  You relieve me.  Perhaps it is not a general topic as yet.”  Then shortly and with lawyer-like directness, “Show me the letter which has disturbed all your plans.”

“I haven’t it here.”

“You didn’t bring it?”

“No, Mr. Black.  Why should I?  I had no premonition that I should ever be induced to show it to any one, least of all to you.”

“Look over these.  Do they look at all familiar?”

She glanced down at the crumpled sheets and half-sheets he had spread out before her.  They were similar in appearance to the one she had picked up on the judge’s grounds but the language was more forcible, as witness these: 

When a man is trusted to defend another on trial for his life, he’s supposed to know his business.  How came John Scoville to hang, without a thought being given to the man who hated A. Etheridge like poison?  I could name a certain chap who more than once in the old days boasted that he’d like to kill the fellow.  And it wasn’t Scoville or any one of his low-down stamp either.

A high and mighty name shouldn’t shield a man who sent a poor, unfriended wretch to his death in order to save his own bacon.

“Horrible!” murmured Deborah, drawing back in terror of her own emotion.  “It’s the work of some implacable enemy taking advantage of the situation I have created.  Mr. Black, this man must be found and made to see that no one will believe, not even Scoville’s widow—­”

“There! you needn’t go any further with that,” admonished the lawyer.  “I will manage him.  But first we must make sure to rightly locate this enemy of the Ostranders.  You do detect some resemblance between this writing and the specimen you have at home?”

“They are very much alike.”

“You believe one person wrote them?”

“I do.”

“Have you any idea who this person is?”

“No; why should I?”

“No suspicion?”

“Not the least in the world.”

“I ask because of this,” he explained, picking out another letter and smilingly holding it out towards her.

She read it with flushed cheeks.  Listen to the lady.  You can’t listen to any one nicer.  What she wants she can get.  There’s a witness you never saw or heard of.

A witness they had never heard of!  What witness?  Scarcely could she lift her eyes from the paper.  Yet there was a possibility, of course, that this statement was a lie.

“Stuff, isn’t it?” muttered the lawyer.  “Never mind, we’ll soon have hold of the writer.”  His face had taken on a much more serious aspect, and she could no longer complain of his indifference or even of his sarcasm.

“You will give me another opportunity of talking with you on this matter,” pursued he.  “If you do not come here, you may expect to see me at Judge Ostrander’s.  I do not quite like the position into which you have been thrown by these absurd insinuations from some unknown person who may be thinking to do you a service, but who you must feel is very far from being your friend.  It may even lead to your losing the home which has been so fortunately opened for you.  If this occurs, you may count on my friendship, Mrs. Scoville.  I may have failed you once, but I will not fail you twice.”