of motive."

"Do you mean to say that you possess a record of the facts?" inquired
Hume, exhibiting some tokens of excitement in face and voice as he watched
Brett turning over the leaves of the scrap-book, in which newspaper
cuttings were neatly pasted, some being freely annotated.

"Yes. The daily press supplies my demands in the way of fiction--a word,
by the way, often misapplied. Where do you find stranger tales than in the
records of every-day life? Ah, here we are!"

He searched through a large number of printed extracts. There were
comments, long reports, and not a few notes, all under the heading: "The
Stowmarket Mystery."

Hume was now deeply agitated; he evidently restrained his feelings by
sheer force of will.

"Mr. Brett," he said, and his voice trembled a little, "surely you could
not have expected my presence here this morning?"

"I no more expected you than the man in the moon," was the reply; "but I
recognised you at once. I watched your face for many hours whilst you
stood in the dock. Professional business took me to the Assizes during
your second trial. At one time I thought of offering my services."

"To me?"

"No, not to you."