He himself had been dining out with a friend on that memorable evening, and had gone on with him to the Oxford Music Hall.

He met his father on the doorstep of the bank at about 11.30 p.m.and they went in together.

There certainly was nothing remarkable about Mr.Ireland then, his son averred; he appeared in no way excited, and bade his son good night quite cheerfully.
"There was the extraordinary, the remarkable hitch," continued the man in the corner, waxing more and more excited every moment.

"The public--who is at times very dense--saw it clearly nevertheless: of course, every one at once jumped to the natural conclusion that Mrs.
Ireland was telling a lie--a noble lie, a self-sacrificing lie, a lie endowed with all the virtues if you like, but still a lie.
"She was trying to save her husband, and was going the wrong way to work.

James Fairbairn, after all, could not have dreamt quite all that he declared he had seen and heard.