He knew that the crisis was close upon him. Now or never he must speak the words that should convince and prevail; and instinct told him that he would speak in vain. Nevertheless, he succeeded in stimulating himself adequately for the last great effort. He would fight game and he would die game.
"If," he said stoutly, "I am at liberty now to make my plain statement of the facts, I do so. It was seven-thirty-five P.M. Miss Yorke was at the instrument. I was here"--and he moved a step away. "The soldier was there;" and he pointed. "The soldier began his audacity by--"
"But, good gracious," said Sir John, "you are going back to the very beginning."
"For your proper understanding," said Dale, with determination, "I must commence at the commencement. If, as promised, I am to be heard--"
"But you have been heard."
"Your pardon, sir. You have examined me, but I have made no statement."
"Oh, very well." Sir John, as well as the other two, assumed an attitude of patient boredom. "Fire ahead, then, Mr. Dale."
And, bowing, Dale plunged into his long-pondered oration. Their three faces told him that he was failing. Not a single point seemed to score. He was muddled, hopeless, but still brave. He struggled on stanchly. With a throbbing at his temples, a prickly heat on his chest, a clammy coldness in his spine--with his voice sounding harsh and querulous, or dull and faint--with the sense that all the invisible powers of evil had combined to deride, to defeat, and to destroy him--he struggled on toward the bitterly bitter end of his ordeal.
He had nearly got there, was just reaching his man-to-man finale, when the judges cut him short.
"One moment, Mr. Dale."
The nice young man had come in, and was talking both to Sir John and the Colonel.
"Thank you. Just for a moment."
Of his own accord Dale had gone back to the window.
It was all over. Never mind about the end of the speech. Nothing could have been gained by saying it. The tension of his nerves relaxed, and a wave of sick despair came rolling upward from viscera to brain. He knew now with absolute certainty that right was going to count for nothing; no justice existed in the world; these men were about to decide against him.
"Yes,"--and the young man laughed genially--"he said I was to offer his apologies."