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Mr. Cruncher had by this time taken quite a lunch of rust off his

fingers in his following of the evidence. He had now to attend

while Mr. Stryver fitted the prisoner's case on the jury, like a

compact suit of clothes; showing them how the patriot, Barsad,

was a hired spy and traitor, an unblushing trafficker in blood,

and one of the greatest scoundrels upon earth since accursed

Judas--which he certainly did look rather like. How the virtuous

servant, Cly, was his friend and partner, and was worthy to be;

how the watchful eyes of those forgers and false swearers had

rested on the prisoner as a victim, because some family affairs

in France, he being of French extraction, did require his making

those passages across the Channel--though what those affairs

were, a consideration for others who were near and dear to him,

forbade him, even for his life, to disclose.