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 "No, I would not," said the solicitor. "I will pay you the compliment of saying that even Michael Tobin would not have done it better."

"Thank you," said the young man drily. "And now, what would you like to lay against an acquittal?"

"Well, you are a cool hand, I must say," exclaimed Mr. Whitcomb, somewhat taken aback. "For a beginner I don't think I've met your equal."

"What will you lay against an acquittal?"

"I don't mind laying five hundred to fifty," said the solicitor.

"Done," said Northcote.

"If you had asked me this morning before you went into court you might have had five thousand to fifty."

"Sorry I forgot to mention it, because I was just as sure then as I am now what the result will be."

"Why you should have this confidence I cannot understand. Really, you know, you haven't a leg to stand on."

"Well, well; I am going to leave you now to take a stroll for ten minutes. See you soon."

Northcote went out into the traffic to take a few mouthfuls of the London air. Fiery chemicals seemed to be consuming his nerves, and his brain was like a sheet of molten flame. But sensations so extreme in nowise distressed him. He felt the exhilaration of this strange yet not unpleasant condition to be the pledge of a harmony between mental and physical passion. It seemed to promise that the overweening consciousness of power that had