Cotherstone flushed, grew restless, hung his head a little, looked as if he would like to explain.
But Mallalieu continued to stare fixedly across the court.

He cared nothing that the revelation had been made at last.

Now that it had been made, in full publicity, he did not care a brass farthing if every man and woman in Highmarket knew that he was an ex-gaol-bird.

That was far away in the dead past--what he cared about was the present and the future.

And his sharp wits told him that if the evidence of Myler and of old Pursey was all that the prosecution could bring against him, he was safe.