Basil was staring into the embers like a man in a trance; and it
was some time before he answered:

"I don't think you'll need it."

"Perhaps not," said Rupert, getting into his fur coat. "One never
knows. But going down a dark court to see criminals--"

"Do you think they are criminals?" asked his brother.

Rupert laughed stoutly. "Giving orders to a subordinate to strangle
a harmless stranger in a coal-cellar may strike you as a very
blameless experiment, but--"

"Do you think they wanted to strangle the Major?" asked Basil, in
the same distant and monotonous voice.

"My dear fellow, you've been asleep. Look at the letter."

"I am looking at the letter," said the mad judge calmly; though, as
a matter of fact, he was looking at the fire. "I don't think it's
the sort of letter one criminal would write to another."

"My dear boy, you are glorious," cried Rupert, turning round, with
laughter in his blue bright eyes. "Your methods amaze me. Why,
there is the letter. It is written, and it does give orders for a
crime. You might as well say that the Nelson Column was not at all
the sort of thing that was likely to be set up in Trafalgar
Square."