policeman who had been on duty at the Old Bailey, nor one in many
thousands of the population who had gained admission to the court.

Yet if Rachel had relieved the tedium of her trial by using her eyes a
little more; if, for example, she had condescended to look twice at the
handful of mere spectators beyond the reporters on her right, she could
scarcely have failed to recognize the good-looking, elderly man who was
at her heels when she took her ticket at Blackfriars Bridge. His white
hair was covered by his hat, but the face itself was not one to be
forgotten, with its fresh color, its small, grim mouth, and the deep-set
glitter beneath the bushy eyebrows. Rachel, however, neither recognized
nor looked again.

In a few minutes she had a better chance, when, having entered an empty
compartment in the first class, she was joined by this gentleman as the
train began to move.

Rachel hid herself behind the newspaper which she had bought, not that
she had looked twice at her companion, but because at such close
quarters, and in the comparatively fierce light of the first-class
compartment, she was terribly afraid that he might look once too often
at her. But this fear passed from her in the matchless fascination of
reading and re-reading five words in the stop-press column:--"MINCHIN
CASE--Verdict, Not guilty."

Not guilty! Not guilty! And to see it in print! Her eyes filled at the
sight, and she dried them to gloat again. There were columns and columns
about the case, embellished with not unskilful sketches of counsel
addressing the jury, and of the judge in the act of summing up. But
Rachel had listened to every word from all three; and the professional