should speak. If still you elect to remain silent, the court, I
fear, will be unable to draw any conclusion but one from your
attitude."

For a long moment Captain Tremayne stood there in tense, expectant
silence. Yet he was not considering; he was waiting. Lady O'Moy
he knew to be in court, behind him. She had heard, even as he
had heard, that his fate hung perhaps upon whether Richard Butler's
presence were to be betrayed or not. Not for him to break faith
with her. Let her decide. And, awaiting that decision, he stood
there, silent, like a man considering. And then, because no woman's
voice broke the silence to proclaim at once his innocence, and the
alibi that must ensure his acquittal, he spoke at last.

"I thank you, sir. Indeed, I am very grateful to the court for the
consideration it has shown me. I appreciate it deeply, but I have
nothing more to say."

And then, when all seemed lost, a woman's voice rang out at last:

"But I have!"

Its sharp, almost strident note acted like an electric discharge
upon the court; but no member of the assembly was more deeply
stricken than Captain Tremayne. For though the voice was a woman's,
yet it was not the voice for which he had been waiting.

In his excitement he turned, to see Miss Armytage standing there,
straight and stiff, her white face stamped with purpose; and beside
her, still seated, clutching her arm in an agony of fear, Lady O'Moy,