Mr. Larmer was not insensible to the notoriety which attached to him as solicitor for the defence in a case which was the talk of the town, and a topic of the sensational press. Not that it gave him any satisfaction to make capital out of the misfortunes of a friend; but he would have been something more than man and less than lawyer if he had despised the professional chance which had come in his way.

And in fact he did not despise it. There were one or two inexact statements in the reports of the proceedings at Bow Street—he had written to the papers and corrected them. Several caterers for the curiosity of the public hashed up as many scandals as they could find, and served them hot for the entertainment of their readers. It happened that these tales were all more or less to the discredit of Alan Walcott, and to print them before his trial was grossly unfair. Mr. Larmer wrote a few indignant words on this subject also, and, made about two in a thousand of the scandal-mongers ashamed of themselves. Not content with this he supplied a friend with one or two paragraphs relating to the case, which had the effect of stimulating the interest already aroused in it. By this plan he secured the insertion of a statement in the best of the society journals, which put the matter at issue in a fair and unprejudiced way, dwelling on such facts as the pending divorce-suit, the fining of Mrs. Walcott at Hammersmith, her molestation of her husband on various recent occasions, and her intrusion upon him in Alfred Place. This article, written with manifest knowledge of the circumstances, yet with much reserve and moderation, was a very serviceable diversion in Alan's favor, and did something to diminish the odium into which he had fallen.

Mr. Larmer would not have selected trial by ordeal in the columns of the newspapers as the best preparation for a trial before an English judge and jury; but the process was begun by others before he had a word to say in the matter, and his efforts were simply directed to making the most of the situation which had been created. A mass of prejudice had been introduced into the case by the worthy gentlemen who maintain that in these evil days the press is the one thing needful for moral and political salvation, and who never lose an opportunity of showing how easy it would be to govern a nation by leading articles, or to redeem humanity by a series of reports and interviews. Alan had given himself up for lost when he found himself in the toils of this prejudice; but Mr. Larmer saw a chance of turning it to good account both for his client and for himself, and not unnaturally took advantage of the awakened curiosity to put his friend's case clearly and vividly before the popular tribunal.

Alan nearly upset the calculation of the lawyer by his impatience of the interviewing tribe. Half-a-dozen of them found him out at different times, and would not take his no for an answer. At last worried by the pertinacity of one bolder and clumsier than all the rest, he took him by the shoulders and bundled him out of his room, and the insulted ambassador, as he called himself, wrote to his employer a particularly spiteful account of his reception, with sundry embellishments perhaps more picturesque than strictly accurate.

The next thing that Mr. Larmer had to do was to retain counsel, and he determined to secure as big a man as possible to conduct the defence. The case had assumed greater importance than would attach to an ordinary assault upon a wife by her husband. It was magnified by the surrounding circumstances, so that the interest felt in it was legitimate enough, apart from the spurious notoriety which had been added to it. Alan's literary fame had grown considerably within the last year, and his friends had been terribly shocked by the first bald statement that he had stabbed his unfortunate wife in a fit of rage.

They had begun by refusing to believe it, then they trusted that he would be able to prove his innocence, but by this time many of his warmest admirers were assuring each other that, "after all, the artistic merit of a poem never did and never would depend upon the moral character of the poet." They hoped for the best, but were quite prepared for the worst, and thus they looked forward to the trial with an anxiety not unmingled with curious anticipation.

The indirect connection of Lettice Campion with a case of this kind was another intelligible reason for the concern of the respectable public. Lettice's name was in everybody's mouth, as that of the young novelist who had made such a brilliant success at the outset of her career, and all who happened to know how she had been mixed up at an earlier stage in the quarrel between Walcott and his wife, were wondering if she would put in an appearance, willingly or unwillingly, at the Central Criminal Court.

Mr. Larmer clearly saw that the business was sufficiently important to justify the intervention of the most eminent counsel. As he was running over the list and balancing the virtues of different men for an occasion of this sort, his eye fell on the name of Sydney Campion. He started, and sank back in his chair to meditate.

The idea of having Mr. Campion to defend a man with whom his sister's name had been unjustly associated was a bold one, and it had not occurred to him before. Was there any reason against it? What more natural than that this rising pleader should come into court for the special purpose of safeguarding the interests of Miss Campion? The prosecution would not hesitate to introduce her name if they thought it would do them any good—especially as they would have the contingency of the divorce case in their minds; and Campion was just the man to nip any attempt of that kind in the bud. At all events, the judge was more likely to listen to him on such a point than to anyone else. But would not the practice and etiquette of the bar put it absolutely out of the question.

The thing was worth considering—worth talking over with Campion himself. So Mr. Larmer put on his hat at once, and went over to the Temple.

"I have come to see you on a rather delicate matter," he said, by way of introduction, "as you will understand if you happen to have seen my name in connection with the Walcott assault case. There are sundry matters involved which make it difficult to keep the case within its proper limits, and I thought that an informal consultation on the subject, before I proceed to retain counsel, might facilitate matters."

"Perhaps it might; but I hardly see how I can help you."

"Well, it occurred to me that if you were in court during the trial, you would have the opportunity of checking anything that might arise of an irrelevant character—any references——"

"And what do you propose?" said Sydney, interrupting.

"It would be hard that we should be prevented from putting our case in the hands of such counsel as we consider best calculated to bring it to a successful issue. If there is no strong personal reason against it, but on the other hand (as it seems to me) an adequate reason in its favor, I trust that you will allow me to send you a brief."

"Let me ask you—did you come to me in any sense at the instance of your client?" said Sydney, suspiciously.

"By no means. Mr. Walcott does not know I have thought of you in connection with his defence."

"Nor at the instance of another?"

"Certainly not. It is entirely my own idea."

Sydney looked relieved. He could not ask outright if there had been any communication with his sister, but that was what he was thinking about.

"I hope we may rely upon you," said Mr. Larmer.

"I don't know. I am not sure that you can. This is, as you said, a perfectly informal conversation, and I may frankly tell you that what you ask is out of the question. I hope you will think no more about it."

Mr. Larmer was troubled.

"It seemed to me, Mr. Campion, that the idea would commend itself at once. I fear you did not quite take my meaning when I spoke of possible side issues and irrelevant questions which might arise during the trial?"

"Surely I did. You meant that counsel for the prosecution might think to advance his cause by referring to other proceedings, past or future, and might even go so far as to name a lady who has been most wantonly and cruelly maligned by one of the parties to this case?"

"Exactly. You use the very words in regard to it which I would have used myself. That is a contingency, I imagine, which you would strongly desire to avoid."

"So strongly do I desire it, that you would not be surprised if I had already taken measures with that end in view."

"Decidedly not. But it will be only natural that the prosecution should try and damage Walcott as much as possible—showing the motive he would have for getting rid of his wife, and, going into the details of their former quarrels. The question is whether any man can be expected, in doing this, to abstain from mentioning the names of third parties."

"Has it never occurred to you, Mr. Larmer, that there is one way, and only one way, in which I could certainly guarantees that the name of the lady in question should not be mentioned? Your plan, if you will excuse my saying so, is clumsy and liable to fail. Mine is perfectly secure against failure, and perhaps a little more congenial."

Larmer's face fell.

"You do not mean," he said, "that you have taken a brief from the prosecution!"

"If I had, I should have stopped you as soon as you began to speak, and told you so. But I may say as much as this—if I am retained by them I shall go into court; and, if they retain anyone else, I shall have good reason to know that the case will be conducted precisely as I should conduct it myself. I imagine that this matters very little to you, Mr. Larmer. I have not done much with this class of cases, and there will be no difficulty in finding a stronger man."

Mr. Larmer was silent for a minute or two. Sydney Campion's manner took him aback.

"I am sorry to hear what you have said," he remarked at last. "I fear it must inevitably prejudice my client if it is known that you are on the other side."

"I don't see why it should," Sydney said, with manifest indifference. "At any rate, with respect to the point you were mentioning, it is clear that the lady's name will not be introduced by the prosecution."

"Let it be equally clear," said Larmer, "that it will not be introduced by the defence. This was the first instruction which I received from my client—who, I may say, was a schoolfellow of mine, and in whose honor, and not only honor, but technical innocence, I have the utmost confidence."

"You have undertaken his defence, and I am sure he is in very good hands," said Sydney with a rather cynical smile. "But, perhaps, the less said the better as to the honor of a married man who, under false pretenses, dares to pay attentions to an unmarried lady."

"Believe me you are mistaken! Alan Walcott has done nothing of the kind."

"He has done enough to create a scandal. You are not denying that his attitude has been such as to bring the name of the lady forward in a most objectionable manner, without the slightest contribution on her part to such a misfortune?"

"I do deny it, most emphatically, and I beg you to disabuse your mind of the idea. What possible ground can you have for such a charge? The mere tipsy ravings of this unfaithful wife—whom I should probably have no difficulty in proving insane, as well as unfaithful and intemperate. What is actually known is that she has been heard by the police, on one or two occasions, referring by name to this lady. How far would you as a lawyer, Mr. Campion, allow that fact to have weight as evidence in support of the charge? And can you mention, beyond that, one tittle of evidence of any kind?"

Sydney shrugged his shoulders.

"We are not considering evidence as you know very well. We are talking as two men of the world, quite competent to draw the right deduction from admitted facts. I say that when a lady has been so grievously insulted as Miss Campion has been, under circumstances of such great aggravation, the man who has brought that indignity upon her, however indirectly, must be held directly responsible for his conduct."

"It is useless to argue the point—the more so as I fancy that Mr. Walcott himself would be very much inclined to agree with you—which I am not. He most bitterly regrets the annoyance to which Miss Campion has been subjected, and regards it as the greatest of all the injuries inflicted upon him by his degraded wife. Having said this on his behalf, let me add that any charge brought against him on this score, by that woman or by anyone else, is absolutely without foundation, and that we shall know how to defend his reputation, in or out of court, whenever and by whomsoever it may be attacked."

"Your warmth does you credit, Mr. Larmer. I will be equally frank with you. You speak as a friend, I speak as a brother. After all that has happened I do not hold myself bound, nor do I intend, to consider anyone or anything in comparison with the credit of the name which has been so foully aspersed. It is for me to protect that name from discredit, and I shall adopt every expedient within my reach to carry out my purpose."

"No doubt you are perfectly justified in doing so. I will merely remark that hostility to my client cannot assist you in your object."

"Well," said Sydney, rising from his seat, "there can be no use in continuing the conversation." And he added, in a lighter tone, "I am sorry, Mr. Larmer, that I should be compelled to decline the first brief you have offered me."

Larmer went back to his office a little crestfallen, but not at all sorry that he had had this interview with Campion. He was better prepared now for the course which the trial was likely to follow. He had no doubt that Campion would be bold enough to undertake the prosecution, and that he would do his best to get a conviction against Walcott, whom he manifestly disliked. He was less sanguine from that moment as to the result of his efforts; but, of course, he did not relax them. He retained Mr. Charles Milton, a man with an excellent reputation in criminal business, and one who, as he thought, would do his utmost to avoid losing a case to Campion.

Milton, in effect, took the matter up with much zeal. He had (so far as his professional instinct allowed him) accepted the theory of Walcott's guilt, rather respecting him, if the truth were known, for refusing to put up any longer with the persecutions of a revolted wife. But he had no sooner received his brief in the case than he was perfectly convinced of Walcott's innocence. The story told him by Mr. Larmer seemed not only natural but transparently true, and when he heard that his club-mate of the Oligarchy was actively interested for the other side, he determined that no effort on his part should be wanting to secure a verdict.

Not that he had any grudge against Sydney; but they belonged to the same profession, the same party, and the same club—three conceivable reasons for Mr. Milton's zeal.

Thus Alan's defence was well provided for, and Mr. Larmer began to feel more easy in his mind.

When Alan heard that the prosecution was likely to be conducted by Sydney Campion, he took the news quietly, though it was a very serious matter for him. He did not doubt its seriousness, but his heart had already fallen so low that it could scarcely sink lower. He saw at once that the motive of Lettice's brother in angling for this brief (as Alan concluded that he must have done) was to protect the interests of Lettice; and so far, the fact was a matter of congratulation. It was his own great desire, as Larmer knew, to prevent her name from being mentioned, and to avoid reference to anything in which she had been indirectly concerned, even though the reference might have been made without using her name. When Larmer pointed out that this quixotism, as he called it, would make it almost impossible for his counsel to show the extreme malignity of his wife and the intolerable persecution to which he had been subjected, he had answered shortly and decisively,

"Let it be impossible. The first object is not my defence, but hers."

"Your vision is distorted," Larmer had said angrily. "This may seem to you right and generous, but I tell you it is foolish and unnecessary."

"I will not be guided in this particular thing," Alan rejoined, "by your reason, but by my feeling. An acquittal at her cost would mean a lifelong sorrow."

"If I know anything of women, Miss Campion, who does not quite hate you, would insist on having the whole story told in open court. Perhaps she may return to England in time for the trial, and then she can decide the point herself."

"Heaven forbid!" Alan had said. And he meant it. Worse than that, he tortured himself with the idea, which he called a firm belief, that Lettice had heard, or would hear, of his disgraceful position, that she would be unable to doubt that he had struck the fatal blow, and that he would be dropped out of her heart and out of her life as a matter of course. How could it be otherwise? What was he to her, that she should believe him innocent in spite of appearances; or that, believing him merely unfortunate and degraded, she should not think less well of him than when he held his name high in the world of letters and in society?

"That dream is gone," he said. "Let me forget it, and wake to the new life that opens before me. A new life—born in a police cell, baptized in a criminal court, suckled in a prison, and trained in solitary adversity. That is the fate for which I have been reserved. I may be nearly fifty when I come out—a broken-down man, without reputation and without a hope. Truly, the dream is at an end; and oh, God of Heaven, make her forget me as though we had never met!"

So, when Mr. Larmer frankly told him all that Sydney Campion had said, Alan could not find it in his heart to blame Lattice's brother for his hostility.