“Well,” said Michael, cocking an eyebrow at him, “was there any burglary in that terrace that night?  Surely you could find that out.”

“There may well have been,” said the doctor primly, after a pause, “an unsuccessful one that led to no legalities.”

“Another question,” proceeded Michael.  “Canon Hawkins, in his blood-and-thunder boyish way, left off at the exciting moment.  Why don’t you produce the evidence of the other clergyman, who actually followed the burglar and presumably was present at the crime?”

Dr. Pym rose and planted the points of his fingers on the table, as he did when he was specially confident of the clearness of his reply.

“We have entirely failed,” he said, “to track the other clergyman, who seems to have melted into the ether after Canon Hawkins had seen him as-cending the gutters and the leads.  I am fully aware that this may strike many as sing’lar; yet, upon reflection, I think it will appear pretty natural to a bright thinker.  This Mr. Raymond Percy is admittedly, by the canon’s evidence, a minister of eccentric ways.  His con-nection with England’s proudest and fairest does not seemingly prevent a taste for the society of the real low-down.  On the other hand, the prisoner Smith is, by general agreement, a man of irr’sistible fascination.  I entertain no doubt that Smith led the Revered Percy into the crime and forced him to hide his head in the real crim’nal class.  That would fully account for his non-appearance, and the failure of all attempts to trace him.”

“It is impossible, then, to trace him?” asked Moon.

“Impossible,” repeated the specialist, shutting his eyes.

“You are sure it’s impossible?”

“Oh dry up, Michael,” cried Gould, irritably.  “We’d ’ave found ’im if we could, for you bet ’e saw the burglary.  Don’t you start looking for ’im.  Look for your own ’ead in the dustbin.  You’ll find that—­after a bit,” and his voice died away in grumbling.

“Arthur,” directed Michael Moon, sitting down, “kindly read
Mr. Raymond Percy’s letter to the court.”

“Wishing, as Mr. Moon has said, to shorten the proceedings as much as possible,” began Inglewood, “I will not read the first part of the letter sent to us.  It is only fair to the prosecution to admit the account given by the second clergyman fully ratifies, as far as facts are concerned, that given by the first clergyman.  We concede, then, the canon’s story so far as it goes.  This must necessarily be valuable to the prosecutor and also convenient to the court.  I begin Mr. Percy’s letter, then, at the point when all three men were standing on the garden wall:—­

“As I watched Hawkins wavering on the wall, I made up my own mind not to waver.  A cloud of wrath was on my brain, like the cloud of copper fog on the houses and gardens round.  My decision was violent and simple; yet the thoughts that led up to it were so complicated and contradictory that I could not retrace them now.  I knew Hawkins was a kind, innocent gentleman; and I would have given ten pounds for the pleasure of kicking him down the road.  That God should allow good people to be as bestially stupid as that—­ rose against me like a towering blasphemy.