He had almost ceased to hope for anything except the end of it. He
had lost count of the days, and had begun to feel that the trial was
an eternity of torture in itself. At nights he could not sleep, but
during the Sunday, after Mass, he had slept all day. Then it had
begun again, and when the Tuesday came he hardly knew how long it had
been since that vacant Sunday. And now he heard the advocate declare,
without knowing on what ground the declaration was grounded, that
the trial must be postponed, or that the jury must be instructed to
acquit him.
"This telegram has reached us only this morning," continued Mr.
Chaffanbrass. "'Mealyus had a house door-key made in Prague. We have
the mould in our possession, and will bring the man who made the
key to England.' Now, my lud, the case in the hands of the police,
as against this man Mealyus, or Emilius, as he has chosen to call
himself, broke down altogether on the presumption that he could not
have let himself in and out of the house in which he had put himself
to bed on the night of the murder.
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