I certainly had, and felt all the uncertainty and secret alarm which an unexpected move occasions where the issue is momentous with life or death.

I was filled with terror, not for the man on trial, but for my secret.

Was it shared by the defence?
Was Mr.Moffat armed with the knowledge I thought confined to myself and Arthur?
Had the latter betrayed the cause I had been led to believe he was ready to risk his life to defend?
Had I mistaken his gratitude to myself; or had I underrated Mr.Moffat's insight or powers of persuasion?
We had just been made witness to one triumph on the part of this able lawyer in a quarter deemed unassailable by the prosecution.

Were we about to be made witnesses of another?
I felt the sweat start on my forehead, and was only able to force myself into some show of self-possession by the evident lack of perfect assurance with which this same lawyer now addressed his client.
The topic which had awakened in me these doubts and consequent agitation will appear from the opening question.
"Mr.Cumberland, to return to the night of your sister's death.

Can you tell us what overcoat you put on when leaving your house ?" Arthur was as astonished and certainly as disconcerted, if not as seriously alarmed, as I was, by this extraordinary move.