Ernest sat down again with a satisfied smile on his face.
With the evidence of Annie, as to the candle grease on the floor, and as to seeing the prisoner take the coffee into the boudoir, the proceedings were adjourned until the following day.
As we went home, Mary Cavendish spoke bitterly against the prosecuting counsel.
“That hateful man! What a net he has drawn around my poor John! How he twisted every little fact until he made it seem what it wasn’t!”
“Well,” I said consolingly, “it will be the other way about to-morrow.”
daylight, it would need an actor of genius, and a certain initial facial resemblance. But in the case of Alfred Inglethorp, all that is changed. His clothes, his beard, the glasses which hide his eyes—those are the salient points about his personal appearance. Now, what is the first instinct of the