Mr Thornton had just stepped out from the Hale's, when an omnibus pulled to a stop outside the house, and a police inspector jumped down. Seeing Mr Thornton, he called out to him, causing Mr Thornton to look round. Mr Thornton had been responsible for getting Inspector Watson his commission in the force, and Inspector Watson admired him greatly, and having come across him - quite by chance - he thought to take up his advice.

'Forgive me for making so bold as to stop you in this way, sir, but I am on business with regards to the drunkard who died in the infirmary last evening, and I believe you were the magistrate called to take his deposition?'

'Yes, I was; not that he talked much sense, poor fellow. He certainly came to his death at the hands of some violence; not that it may not have been warranted. He was a drunkard by all accounts, with a tendency to impertinence. He was engaged to one of my mother's servants, and the girl now is in quite a state about his death.'

'That is what I wished to speak to you of, sir; as a magistrate, but also in your capacity as the very man who got me my berth within the force. You see, sir, in investigating the matters surrounding this man's death, I have found a lady living in that very house I have just seen you leave, to be quite caught up.' Here, Mr Thornton stopped abruptly, and turned his avid gaze upon Inspector Watson, giving him his full attention.

'Someone in the Hale household, Watson?'

'Indeed, sir. You see, through my investigations, I have found that Leonards - a porter at the Outwood station - was accused of some slight violence; a definite impertinence towards a lady, and a scuffle ensued and the man was pushed - quite roughly, by all accounts - and thus he fell. I have a witness, sir, who says that the lady seen was Miss Hale. I have spoken with her just this afternoon, but she denied that she was there. I have told my witness of her denial, and although he does not wish to claim her to be a liar, sir, he is quite convinced that it was Miss Hale that he saw at Outwood station.' Mr Thornton frowned in alarm. Outwood station; why! he had seen Miss Hale at Outwood station with his own eyes; and in the embrace of a gentleman!

'When was this, Inspector?' asked Mr Thornton; his voice calm, betraying none of his own, surging emotions.

'Between six and seven, sir, on Thursday, the twenty-sixth.' The very same!

'And she denies that she was there at all?'

'Quite explicitly, sir. A vigorous denial, and with such being the case, sir, and my having a witness to claim otherwise, I fear there shall have to be an inquest, and - well - one does not like to doubt the word of a lady.'

'Quite right,' frowned Mr Thornton, for it was most alarming that such an entanglement should occur. 'You did well in bringing this to my attention, Watson. Leave it with me; I shall look into this further.'

'I did promise the lady I would call back this evening, Mr Thornton; she will be expecting me.' Mr Thornton took out his pocket watch and made some small calculation, before returning it to his pocket.

'It is now three o'clock. Come to the mill at four o'clock and I shall give you directions.'

'Thank you, sir!' replied Inspector Watson, for he truly did not wish to force an inquest and risk the lady's reputation, if it was nothing more than a matter of mistaken identity.

Mr Thornton took himself directly to his mill, and locked himself within his office, in order to prevent any interruptions. He sat at his desk and thought on what he had learnt. Never had he thought Miss Hale to be a liar. She had vexed him - always vexed him - and he felt in her a certain prejudice. Not against the north, for she was friendly with the workers and the likes of Higgins, and not against those she perceived to be beneath her class, for she appeared to discern no divide between her and her late friend Bessy, but she had always rallied against him, tarnishing him unfairly; thinking him a tyrant - a cruel master who had no feeling for his fellow man, but thought only in terms of trade; in pounds and pence, always looking to turn a tidy profit. He had sometimes thought her prejudice against him a wilful dislike that she seemed determined to cling to, and if that was so - not merely a naivety - then he felt there was some weakness of character within her - some failing - but never had he thought her a liar.

He had always listened to her disparage how he sought to run his business, with a patient calmness, because he thought her merely ignorant. He had even been inclined to inform her; to help her understand, but she had wanted none of it; happy to take guidance from the likes of Higgins - the union man - but not he. Mr Thornton - whilst displeased by her bias - had forgiven it, for he could see - even though it irked him - that her siding with the hands, and disdaining him as he felt she had - was a symptom only of her Christian sensibilities; the great philanthropist which sought to help those at the bottom of society; and looked upon him - as one at the top of Milton's social sphere - as a necessary evil; the oppressor of the poor. It was unjust of her, but he understood her intentions.

Now, he called into question everything he had ever thought her to be. Not only had she been out after dark with a man - in a secluded place - whilst her mother lay cold upon her bed! - but she had lied about it. He was half-minded to leave her to her fate, but he knew that he could not, for had he not just sat with his friend - Miss Hale's father - for over an hour, looking into his grieving eyes; his expression bereft? Had he not felt, in Mr Hale's every look and word, how broken down the poor man was? And now to learn that his daughter was a liar? That she had been seen - after dark - with a man? He felt sure Mr Hale could know nothing of it, and why should he! The sighting had been such a great shock to Mr Thornton that he had scarcely believed what he had seen, and he was no great admirer of the woman. To Mr hale - who loved his daughter deeply - it would surely be a crushing blow.

He considered that the drunkard, Leonards, had a long-standing internal complaint, which the surgeon had informed him the previous evening, would have killed the man, anyway. The fall, it seemed, merely hastened Leonards' fate. And the evidence; as it was the word of a witness (and it seemed the witness was reluctant) against the word of a lady, it would be difficult to prove. He frowned over his desk. He knew he could intervene; stop the inquest with a word, but he was a man of honour. He cared not for compromising his own position as a magistrate; he cared only for his compromising justice.

His great duty as a magistrate, and his duty as a man waged war with themselves, and his mind raced tumultuously until he felt a sickness in his stomach. And yet, for all he thought the matter over, he felt sure that his Isabel would have stood boldly before him and asserted - with clear reasoning - that a drunkard with an illness sure to kill him - who had promoted the blow which felled him, by being impertinent towards a lady - was due no more regard or loyalty, than the lady who had been his victim. Yes; she had lied, but surely she did so to protect her father from the shameful gossip of her having been from home at such an hour - and not alone! Oh, he knew what he must do, and he would do it, but he was loath to.

He stood from his desk and slipped on his frock coat, so that he might go out to meet with Inspector Watson - for four o'clock was fast approaching - when there was a rapping on his door. Upon bidding the person to enter, he saw before him a flushed Inspector Watson, who appeared as though he had quite run to keep to his appointment.

'Mr Thornton, sir -' panted the inspector, before steadying himself and drawing in a deep breath for composure. 'I have just come from the station where I have spoken with a Miss Darrow - who resides with the Hales in Crampton - and she has provided for Miss Hale, an alibi; they were looking through some of the late Mrs Hale's belongings on the evening of the twenty-sixth. I ran this back to my witness - the grocer's assistant - and once he learnt that Miss Hale had an alibi, he quite strenuously retracted his statement. He said he had thought it was she - he was certain of it. Then, when the lady in question had denied it, he had been less certain, but still trusted in his own judgement, but now that another young lady had spoken up for her, he said he could not - in all conscience - withhold doubt, and that he was therefore unable to speak against her in a court of law.

'Without his deposition, sir, there can surely be no inquest; no question of Miss Hale's involvement. I am only sorry to have wasted your time, sir. I do hope you did not go to too much trouble in looking into the matter for me?' Mr Thornton was incredulous. Miss Darrow - his Isabel! - had given Miss Hale an alibi? That Miss Hale - the daughter of his friend - was a lair, had been a blow, but his Isabel! He felt himself snarl inwardly, but he was not one to betray his feelings. He lifted his eyebrows a mere fraction.

'Had you asked Miss Hale for an alibi when you spoke with her?' asked Mr Thornton, his voice low and brooding. Inspector Watson, however, mistook the tone and understood it to be a reprimand for a failing on his own part.

'I admit, I did not, sir.' Mr Thornton nodded.

'A woman is not above the law, Watson. A woman is capable of a lie or misdeed. I would not hold back for propriety's sake; if you would ask an alibi of a man, you must ask it of a woman,' scolded Mr Thornton; his tone harsh in his mortified vexation. 'Indeed,' said he, now trying to soften his tone, 'to wait until an inquest to ask for an alibi is a disservice to the lady; having her stand up in such a fashion. No! I am glad it is resolved. I was minded to say there appeared not a sufficient chain of evidence. It appears now that there was no real evidence at all. There can be no inquest, Watson.' Inspector Watson - feeling keenly, Mr Thornton's catechism, lowered his head in deference to the respected Master and magistrate, offered his apologies once again, and left to inform Miss Hale that there would be no inquest.

Mr Thornton stood about the window to his office, his hands thrust loosely into his trouser pockets, as he drew in a weary breath of disappointment. What compelled you to such a falsehood, my Isabel? Do you know of Miss Hale's impropriety with that gentleman? Do you seek to help her hide it away? The generous part of his heart told him she had lied - not for Margaret - but for Mr Hale - as he himself, had been inclined to do. But for the direct lie to have fallen from her lips - those full lips, of such a deep pink! - oh, it was too much! To have his love fall from such a height, when he had thought her full of such honesty and openness; damn all need for propriety! For all she spoke was the truth, unafraid to speak her mind - even if her words should shock or stun - because she would rather be called improper than claim to thoughts and feelings she did not possess. He set his jaw and drew in great breaths of air through those flaring nostrils. She had sullied herself in his eyes, but for all that she had fallen, he could still kiss the ground at her feet.

Margaret sat listlessly, waiting for Inspector Watson to return with news of the inquest which she so greatly feared. To tell a falsehood to an inspector of the law was a great fault, and one which weighed heavily upon her conscience, but to lie under oath would be a sin. She felt she ought to be able to take solace in the knowledge that she had lied to protect another, but she could not honestly determine if the lie was justified, for she did not know to what risk Isabel would be exposed, were she to be identified as the lady who had pushed Leonards onto the rail tracks.

Isabel had gone out for a short while and had returned with a small smile of good faith, and made straight for Mr Hale, opening up a volume of Aristotle and asking him for his opinion on a matter she had been studying.

'Do you believe that the universe exists in particular things - as did Aristotle, or are you of the Platonic way, in thinking the universe exists apart from particular things? I am undecided, having just read Plato and now picked up Aristotle.' Mr Hale looked to her kindly, showing that he understood the true purpose of her question.

'Both ontologies are with merit,' replied he; a weary sigh, showing that he had not the energy for any in-depth discussion of the classics. 'Margaret, you do look tired. Ought you not rest?' her father urged, fearful lest some failing of health should now strike his daughter.

Margaret assured her father that she was not tired and would sit up, but in truth, she was heavy in heart and limb, and longed dearly for the sanctity of her room. Remain she must, however, for she was awaiting Inspector Watson's return, and every motion of the clock upon the mantle, made her grow more anxious; her heart beat with an erratic rhythm, as her ears sung with the swell of pumping blood flooding through her veins. Again, a small smile from Isabel, designed to instil courage, but it did little to salve Margaret's conscience, for she was an honest creature, and the thought of standing before all those people and having to speak a lie, stung her to the quick.

She could not speak unless spoken to; no conversation could she offer of her own accord, and not a solitary smile could grace her lips. Mr Hale watched her with that trembling excitement which is so often present in an anxious parent, and at length, he felt her mood so very low, her complexion so very pale, that he began to fret enough for her to cede to his wishes and agree to retire to her room. She had agreed only to assuage her father's fears, but as she left the quiet drawing-room, and looked up that inviting flight of stairs, she felt the pull of the private sanctuary that was her room, and thought she really might retire for the evening, for it was past nine o'clock, and so it was surely too late for the inspector to call.

She stood upon the bottom step, her hand resting against the banister, as she began her weary assent, whence sounded the metallic ring of the bell pull, and she turned on her heel and moved swiftly, with a directness of motion that she had felt herself incapable of in her lethargy, not one moment before. And quickly calling down to Dixon that she would answer the door, Margaret opened the door to Inspector Watson, before leading into him her father's study.

'You call very late!' accused Margaret, her temper short; both through exhaustion, and the bitter tang of that Godforsaken lie. She drew in a breath and looked upon the inspector with that cold, disdainful gaze and he was compelled - once again - to feel how great an inconvenience he was; how impertinent he felt, to stand before that proud and stony countenance.

'I am sorry for the lateness of the hour, ma'am, and for any trouble I have caused you in calling round earlier today, for there shall be no inquest, after all. I would have called sooner to inform you, but I have had other duties to see to and was rather caught up.'

'Then all is over,' replied Margaret; her face impassive. 'There is to be no inquest?'

'No, ma'am, indeed not. When Miss Darrow came forward to advise us of your having spent the evening with her, seeing to your mother's things - my condolences, I should say - she provided for you an alibi. Of course, once I knew of your alibi, I hastened to inform my witness, and he now believes himself quite mistaken. He doubts himself entirely, and so we have no witness, either. I should think that an end to the case entirely, ma'am. It was a complicated case; the man was in poor health and had been drinking. The darkness of the hour will have made identifying any parties all the more difficult, and Mr Thornton - the magistrate involved - thought not to look upon the case as a criminal matter; there being such doubt over the medical evidence, and now no witness or suspect to attest to the fall.'

'Mr Thornton!' asked Margaret, in alarm, for she had seen him that very evening, and she was anxious that he now knew of her implication in the matter, and subsequently, her lie. And now, to add to that, Isabel's! Oh! cried Margaret to herself, what have I done? What shall he think of me! That, she could bear; she bore his vexatious equanimity well, but to see Isabel fallen before him; what a price to pay for defending her lie; for Margaret ever having lied.

'Indeed, Miss Hale. Mr Thornton is the magistrate who met with the man in question before he died. I met him after leaving here this afternoon, and explained to him the difficulties of the case.' Margaret sighed; Inspector Watson had explained it all; Mr Thornton knew of both falsehoods; hers and Isabel's. 'So there shall be no inquest.' What a salve! His business was done. She wished that he would go so that she might give way to the tempest within her, but there he stood, as though awaiting a reply. She forced herself to maintain that proud way of hers, and lifted her chin in a gesture of haughty defiance.

'Thank you for calling. It is very late; I dare say it is almost ten o'clock!' said she, a note of indignation to her voice.

'I am sorry for the hour, ma'am, and the inconvenience it has caused you. I do hope you understand that I was only doing my duty - acting on the information that I received. It is clear to me that this was erroneous information. The witness is very sorry for the error, as am I for the disruption to your evening. Good night, ma'am.'

'Good night, Inspector,' came Margaret's low and measured reply, as she turned with a regal poise and rang the bell for Dixon to see the inspector out.

Margaret threw herself upon the bed, and breathed a deep and heavy sigh, as the tension lifted from her limbs. There was to be no inquest. Isabel had intervened to save her from a second, more public voicing of that falsehood, and Mr Thornton - who must have known that she had lied - had not sought to correct the lies that she and Isabel had told. She was relieved; she was aggrieved, but she knew, in her heart, that she was grateful. Grateful to Isabel for having kept Leonards from Frederick, and grateful to her for defending her lie. She was grateful, too, to Mr Thornton, but she feared his reaction to what he had seen at the station that evening - now knowing of her lie - and she feared, even more than she did for herself, for his reaction to Isabel. It was whilst ruminating on this very matter, that there came a gentle knock upon her door, and slowly entered Isabel.

'Was that Inspector Watson?' asked Isabel, softly.

'It was. There is to be no inquest; you gave me an alibi, Isabel.'

'I did. Do not think ill of me for the lie - for not owning to the truth - but the lie, once told, ought to have been protected as a truth to the inspector, and to offer you an alibi was all that I could do.'