Hume and Winter did not meet on terms that might be strictly described as
cordial.

Brett, on quitting the Hall, had surrendered himself to a spell of vacant
bewilderment. He haled the unwilling Hume from Helen's society, and picked
up the detective at the Wheat Sheaf Inn. Then the barrister, from sheer
need of mental relief, determined to have some fun with them.

"You two ought to know each other," he said good-humouredly. "At one time
you took keen interest in matters of mutual concern. Allow me to introduce
you. Hume--this is Mr. Winter, of Scotland Yard."

David was quite unprepared for the meeting.

"What?" he exclaimed, his upper lip stiffening, "the man who concocted all
sorts of imaginary evidence against me!"

"'Concocted' is not the right word, nor imaginary' either," growled
Winter.

"Quite right," said Brett. "Really, Hume, you should be more careful in
your choice of language. Had Winter been as careless in his statements at
the Assizes, he would certainly have hanged you."

Hume was too happy, after a prolonged _tête-à-tête_ with his beloved, to
harbour malice against any person.

"What are we supposed to do--shake hands?" he inquired blandly.