Gascoigne, silent, pre-occupied, and outwardly calm, was yet inwardly
consumed with a fierce though impotent rage. He was indignant at the
shameful treatment he had received. To be arraigned as a criminal
prematurely, his guilt taken for granted on the testimony of unseen
witnesses whose evidence he had no chance of rebutting--all this, so
intolerable to the spirit of British justice, revolted him and
outraged his sense of fair play.

Yet what could he do? He was without redress. They had denied him his
right of appeal to his ambassador; he was forbidden to communicate
with his friends. There seemed no hope for him, no chance of justice,
no loophole of escape.

Stay! Escape?

As the thought flashed quickly across his brain it lingered, taking
practical shape. Surely it was worth his while to make an effort, to
strike one bold blow for liberty now, before it was too late!

He quickly cast up the chances for and against. The cab was following
the line of quays as before, but along the northern bank of the
island, that bordering the main stream. It was going at little better
than a foot's pace; the door next which he sat was on the side of the
river. What if he knocked his guardian senseless, striking him a
couple of British blows--one, two, straight from the shoulder--then,
flinging open the door, spring out, and over the parapet into the
swift-flowing Seine? He was an excellent swimmer; once in the water,
surely he might trust to his luck!

These were the arguments in his favour. Against him were the chances