as would necessitate their absence from the House, and that, instead of giving her such a spell, Edward Curtis had given her one which had caused every member of her household to fall downstairs—­admitted, under cross-examination, that she had asked for a spell that would make every supporter of the Government in the House be suddenly seized with tetanus.  “A diabolical request, your lordship,” Gerald Kirby said, “and one to which my client could not possibly accede.  Consequently, as a punishment for such cruelty, he sold her a spell that would result in her having a sharp attack of toothache.  It could not possibly have produced any of the mishaps she attributes to it.”

It is unnecessary to quote further.  By far the greater number of these witnesses, on being cross-examined by Mr. Kirby, who defended with an ability that has rarely, if ever, been excelled, were made to confess that they had wanted the spells for a far more subtle and dangerous purpose than they had previously stated; admissions which, of course, were highly prejudicial to the case for the prosecution.

Shiel lost hope.  He had looked forward to the trial with an excitement that almost bordered on frenzy.  It was never out of his mind.  He thought of it at meals, he thought of it at his work, he thought of it out of doors, and, when he went to bed, he dreamed of it.

“I’ll save you!  I’ll save you yet!” he wrote to Gladys.  “The trial can only result in one thing—­the breaking up and imprisonment of the trio.”

But when he read the papers each day, and saw how, in almost every instance, evidence which ought to have been damning to the accused, had been twisted into their favour, his heart sank.

There was only one chance now—­Lilian Rosenberg.  She, of all the staff employed in the Hall in Cockspur Street, was best acquainted with the modus operandi of Messrs. Hamar, Curtis and Kelson.

“We must get hold of that girl at all costs,” H.V.  Sevenning remarked to Shiel.  “You say you feel sure she likes you.  Work upon her feelings to show the Firm up.”

“I don’t much like the idea of it,” Shiel said, “but I suppose the end justifies the means.”

“Of course it does!” Sevenning retorted.  “It’s your only chance of saving Miss Martin.”

Acting on this suggestion, Shiel approached Lilian Rosenberg on the subject.

“What about the spells?” he asked her.  “Have you found out yet how Hamar works them?”

“I have only heard him muttering in his room again,” she said, her cheeks paling.  “And—­you will only laugh at me—­I have seen queer shadows hovering in his doorway and stealing down the passages, shadows that have terrified me.  I never knew what real fear was before I came to Cockspur Street, and for the past few weeks I have been almost too afraid to open my room door, for fear I should see something standing outside.”

“You have no doubt, I suppose, in your own mind, that the trio practise sorcery?”