"Griggs offered him the defence of William Bull, the Chippenham
murderer, and he refused it," another remarked. "Griggs wrote
him personally, and the reply came from the Brancaster Golf Club!
It isn't like Ledsam to be taking golfing holidays in the middle
of the session."
"There's nothing wrong with Ledsam," declared a gruff voice from
the corner. "And don't gossip, you fellows, at the top of your
voices like a lot of old women. He'll be calling here for me in
a moment or two."
They all looked around. Andrew Wilmore rose slowly to his feet
and emerged from behind the sheets of an evening paper. He laid
his hand upon the shoulder of a friend, and glanced towards the
door.
"Ledsam's had a touch of nerves," he confided. "There's been
nothing else the matter with him. We've been down at the Dormy
House at Brancaster and he's as right as a trivet now. That
Hilditch affair did him in completely."
"I don't see why," one of the bystanders observed. "He got
Hilditch off all right. One of the finest addresses to a jury I
ever heard."
"That's just the point," Wilmore explained "You see, Ledsam had
no idea that Hilditch was really guilty, and for two hours that
afternoon he literally fought for his life, and in the end
wrested a verdict from the jury, against the judge's summing up,
by sheer magnetism or eloquence or whatever you fellows like to
call it.
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