CHAPTER XCIII.
IN WHICH DOCTOR TOOLE AND DIRTY DAVY CONFER IN THE BLUE-ROOM.
The coach rumbled along toward Dublin at a leisurely jog.
Notwithstanding the firm front Mr.Lowe had presented, Dangerfield's harangue had affected him unpleasantly.

Cluffe's little bit of information respecting the instrument he had seen the prisoner lay up in his drawer on the night of the murder, and which corresponded in description with the wounds traced upon Sturk's skull, seemed to have failed.

The handle of Dangerfield's harmless horsewhip, his mind misgave him, was all that would come of _that_ piece of evidence; and it was impossible to say there might not be something in all that Dangerfield had uttered.

Is it a magnetic force, or a high histrionic vein in some men, that makes them so persuasive and overpowering, and their passion so formidable?
But, with Dangerfield's presence, the effect of his plausibilities and his defiance passed away.

The pointed and consistent evidence of Sturk, perfectly clear as he was upon every topic he mentioned, and the corroborative testimony of Irons, equally distinct and damning--the whole case blurred and disjointed, and for a moment grown unpleasantly hazy and uncertain in the presence of that white sorcerer, readjusted itself now that he was gone, and came out in iron and compact relief--impregnable.
'Run boys, one of you, and open the gate of the Mills,' said Lowe, whose benevolence, such as it was, expanded in his intense feeling of relief.
''Twill be good news for poor Mistress Nutter.