"Leave that to the lawyers." Then, as the other man turned aside for a moment, he whispered in my ear, "It's no go; one of our men saw you with your fingers on her throat.

He had clambered into a pine tree and the shade of the window was up.

You had better come quietly.

Not a soul believes you innocent." This, then, was what had doomed me from the start; this, and that partly burned letter.

I understood now why the kind-hearted coroner, who loved my father, had urged me to tell my tale, hoping that I would explain this act and give him some opportunity to indulge in a doubt.