Part 15

“I use the word ‘unfortunate,’ Mrs. Walsingham, because this man, after languishing many years in prison, was able to prove, to the satisfaction of his fellow creatures, that he was perfectly innocent of the scandalous charge that was brought against him. But at the time of his conviction, when the police had called upon you for your help, you did not dare to tell the judge and the jury that you had not been robbed by this man, and that you had never seen him in your life before?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This was an instance in which you felt the necessity, in spite of all that it cost you, to help the police in obtaining one of those ‘convictions’ which they consider so necessary to their own well-being?”

“Yes, sir.”

“One of those ‘convictions’ which mean an extra stripe on the arm, and the addition of a few shillings a week to the pay of one or two of these natural enemies of yours, of whom you and your friends stand in constant dread?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And so, Mrs. Walsingham, these enemies of whom you stand in such great fear having, in the first instance, caused you in your weakness to affirm that which was untrue, in order that the liberty of an unhappy man, whom you had never met, might be taken away from him, they cause you now to come again into this court to swear away, not the liberty, but the life, of a poor friend, whose only fault, as far as you know, is that occasionally she drank a glass more than was good for her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mrs. Harrison often spoke to you of this Mr. Barron?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of late Mrs. Harrison had complained to you of Mr. Barron being unkind to her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She told you that he had even threatened to leave her altogether?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When you first knew her, Mrs. Harrison seemed attached to him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That is to say, she never complained about him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But when latterly he grew unkind to her she became very unhappy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And was it not at such times that she was inclined to drink that extra glass to forget her great unhappiness?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yet it was only under these conditions, when a stimulant had excited her feelings, that she was heard to complain against him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And then it seemed to you no more than the legitimate complaint of a highly emotional and affectionate nature which was suffering deeply?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You remember, Mrs. Walsingham, that on one occasion she made a reference to her previous history?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It was to the effect that this Mr. Barron and herself came from the same village in the north of England?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That they had been intimately acquainted in her youth?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That as a young girl she had been in domestic service at the house of Mr. Barron’s mother?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That Mr. Barron seduced her under a promise of marriage?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And it was the fact that that promise had not been kept which led directly, in the first instance, to the ruin of this young girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Mr. Barron having accomplished her ruin, fled from the house of his parents to London, to escape his duty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And this girl, dismissed from her situation, disgraced in the eyes of her friends, followed in her despair to this huge city, in the slender hope of finding the man who had ruined her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yet for many years she was unable to find him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And during those years of inexpressible bitterness, in her ignorance of life, her helplessness, her friendlessness, in the abasement of her spirit, she sank deeper and deeper into degradation?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The pure-blooded north country girl became a harlot by the force of circumstances?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And then after many years of misery one evening at a music hall, in the pursuit of her calling, she chanced to meet the man who had been the first cause of her ruin?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when he renewed a proposal that he had made years before, which as a young girl she had scornfully repudiated, that she should dwell in his house, not as his wife, but as his mistress, the pressure of her circumstances forced her to accept this proposal almost with a sense of gratitude?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Mrs. Walsingham, you do not believe for one moment that any thought of vengeance ever suggested itself to her mind?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are prepared to swear that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Also, that even in these latter days, when Mr. Barron became cruel and violent in his conduct towards her, she never freed herself from his yoke, never passed from under the spell of a power which, from the first, had been so fatal to her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that this paltry sum of money which she believed had been left to her in his will, which has proved not to have been the case, could never have counted in the scale of his personal attraction for her, which, sinister, dreadful, tragical as it had proved, had caused her at his behest to forfeit friends, health, virtue, honor, all those things which dignify life?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I thank you, Mrs. Walsingham; I have nothing more to ask you.”

The poor drab, tottering, faint, dissolved in tears, had to be assisted from the witness-box.

This piece of cross-examination had made a strange impression. The manner in which it had been conducted by the young advocate had exerted a powerful emotion upon many besides the weak and flaccid creature who had been so much clay in his hands. It had had great success as a _coup de théâtre_. The trained perceptions present had an uneasy sense that they had been listening to a masterpiece. Forensically, the means had been entirely adequate to the end; a supremely difficult art had been surmounted by an exquisite skill. Each question had been shaped so naturally, each word was clothed with such true delicacy, that wonderful _nuances_ of feeling were shed by the magic of the living human voice over the sordid and the unclean. Sentence by sentence the fabric of a story that was as old as the world was unrolled until it became a piece of drama. Even professional criticism, which was avowedly hostile, was half-conquered by the infusion of human sympathy into that which could not bear the light. Irrelevant, destitute of real authority as was the whole thing, it was yet allowed to be a performance of rare technical beauty, a pledge of the controlled will-power of its creator. And like all things which are the fruit of an incomparable technique--in itself the reason to be of what is called “art”--it had evoked that subtle emotion which transcends reason and experience. And the least accessible to this malign influence were fain to see that the first nail had been hammered already into the coffin of the prosecution.

The indication of a fight on the part of the defence was extremely distasteful to Mr. Weekes and his junior. Nothing had been farther outside the prediction of these expert practitioners. It had been freely anticipated that by luncheon-time the end would be in view. By then, according to this prolepsis, the defence was to have called its witnesses to testify to the woman’s violence when in drink, which would count for little; this youthful novice was to have floundered through his few disconnected and incoherent remarks to the jury; the leader for the Crown was to have answered him in a few perfunctory sentences, which yet would be in striking contradistinction to the halting and rather inept performance of his youthful opponent; the whole was to have been transferred to the judge with a sense of perfect security, since the case for the prosecution was so clear and so entirely uncontroverted; and the judge, very excellent in his way, and highly in favor of the despatch of public business and economization of the public time, was even to have worked in his summing-up by the hour of the adjournment.

However, this lengthy and irrelevant cross-examination, which had had to be contested at every point, had somewhat demoralized this well-considered programme. A solid hour had been cut out of it, a solid hour in which both sides could have addressed the jury; in fact, a solid hour in which, by an effort, a verdict could have been obtained and the woman hanged. And when this tyro, who was conducting his first case of importance with a coolness that many of his elders might have envied, intimated that it was not his intention to call witnesses, and further claimed in that contingency the privilege of addressing the jury after the counsel for the Crown had spoken, Mr. Weekes was fain to inform the court that he would prefer to reserve his own address to the jury, brief as it would be, until after luncheon. Accordingly the adjournment was then taken.

XXV

MR. WEEKES, K. C.

It was in no amiable mood that Mr. Weekes went to lunch with his junior. All his arrangements had been spoiled by “the fellow on the other side.” Instead of the case being in a stage that would permit him to leave it to devote his afternoon to business in another court, it began to seem that it might be prolonged indefinitely.

“So like a beginner,” said the leader to his junior; “must spread himself on the slightest opportunity. When he’s been at it as long as we have he’ll be wiser. So stupid to waste an hour of valuable time in that way. But, after all, it’s a golden rule to expect a beginner to fight a hopeless case. One ought to have known.”

“Quite sure it is hopeless, Weekes?” said his junior quietly.

“Why ask the question?” said Mr. Weekes, irritably. “The case is as dead as this mutton.”

“Then I am afraid there is a little life in,” said Mr. Topott, tasting the mutton ominously. “Waiter, if you don’t mind, I’ll try the beef.”

“That confounded cross-examination--so stupid--so unnecessary--put everybody out,” said Mr. Weekes, snappishly, at each mouthful. “Waste of public time--may well want more judges--ought to allow judges more power--better for everybody--save time and money--save youngsters from making fools of themselves.”

“Also enable us to get in an extra round of golf on a Saturday,” said Mr. Topott, viewing the beef he had exchanged for the mutton with a deep suspicion. “But seriously, Weekes,” said he, “I don’t want you to leave me until they’ve returned their verdict. You can just let that _nisi prius_ business alone this afternoon, and stay with me. I have a presentiment that things might go wrong.”

“Presentiment!” said Mr. Weekes impatiently. “Deuce take your presentiments! Waiter, bring me some red pepper.”

“The fact is, I am frightened to death by that young fellow,” said Mr. Topott cheerfully. “I suppose you know who he is?”

“I know what he is,” said Mr. Weekes incisively. “He is a confounded nuisance.”

“He is the greatest player of Rugby football the game ever saw,” said Mr. Topott impressively.

“Pity he didn’t stick to it,” said Mr. Weekes. “Better for him, better for us. But what has his football got to do with his advocacy?”

“Well, I always think, you know,” said Mr. Topott modestly, “a man is all of a piece as you might say. If he is preëminent in one thing he will be preëminent in another.”

“Not at all, my dear fellow,” said Mr. Weekes, breathing contradiction, a pastime that was dear to him. “It doesn’t follow in the least. A man may be supreme as a crossing-sweeper, but it does not follow that he would be equally great as a member of Parliament.”

“I am only advancing a theory,” said Mr. Topott, more modestly than ever, “but I rather contend that it does. It is a matter of will-power. That to which his supremacy is due in one direction, if evoked in an equal degree in another direction will result in an equal supremacy. What I mean to say is, that it seems to me this truly great football-player has made up his mind to become a truly great advocate. And that is why I fear him.”

“Moonshine,” said Mr. Weekes. “He is clever, I grant you; but football-playing and advocacy are not on all fours, as he will discover this afternoon very speedily when he comes to address a British jury.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so,” said Mr. Topott, with a very apologetic air, “it struck me this morning that his football-playing and his advocacy were very much on all fours. They both struck me as belonging unmistakably to the man. I have, as I say, a presentiment that things might go wrong.”

“Confound your presentiments, Topott! How can things go wrong? And why a man of your experience should funk a mere boy who has had none, I don’t know. He is certain to come an imperial crowner with the jury. There isn’t half a leg for him to stand on.”

“Well, he didn’t come much of a crowner this morning,” said Mr. Topott deferentially, “in spite of Bow-wow and in spite of you. I don’t know where he obtained his information, but I thought the whole thing was most artistic. And if the fellow can cross-examine in that manner, heaven knows what he can do when he gets up on his hind legs to address the jury. I tell you, Weekes, I am frightened to death of this young fellow. He’s deep.”

“I tell you what it is, my boy,” said Mr. Weekes tartly, “you stayed up an hour longer than you ought to have done at the Betterton last night, waiting for four aces which never turned up.”

At an adjoining table the barrister of elephantine proportions, who had expressed his determination “to stand the fellow a bottle,” was entertaining a select coterie of his learned friends. In his inn he was justly celebrated as a trencherman among a society which had always been famous for its prowess at the board. He rejoiced in the name of “Jumbo;” and, although his practice was small, only his adipose tissue imposed the bounds to his good nature. In every way he was designed by nature to be one of her most popular efforts.

“Who’s Northcote?” was a question that was circulating freely. None seemed to know.

“Never heard of him. Never seen his name.”

“Well known in the police-courts, I believe.”

“It’s time he gave them up. His talents call him elsewhere.”

“It was rather poor form, I must say, trying to score off Bow-wow.”

“It is a mistake a young man is likely to make.”

“Speaking for myself, I thought Bow-wow was asking for it. It is the time-honored story of the old-established firm of the bench and the Treasury. Once a Treasury counsel always a Treasury counsel.”

“Jealousy, jealousy, jealousy.”

“He was altogether wrong with the police.”

“I agree. He ought to have been handled more firmly.”

“Bow-wow furnishes a good example of a lath painted to look like iron. I should like to have seen him face to face with Cunningham, or old Tottie Turnbull. There would have been trouble for one.”

“For m’lud, I’ll lay a pony. This young sportsman is quite above the ordinary. He is going a very long way.”

“It is too early to say. We see so many geese with the plumage of the swan in this profession.”

“Name! name!” cried the table.

“I expect when it is all reckoned up,” said Jumbo, when order had been restored, “my young pal, Jem Smith, is the son of ‘Pot’ Northcote who went the northern circuit for years.”

“If that is so, Jum, he is already a better man than his father. Pot died a recorder.”

“I hope the young un will open his mug for an hour this afternoon. He’s got the finest mask on him for a young un I ever saw.”

“Weekes might easily have to play jack-in-the-box all the afternoon.”

“In that case poor old Bow-wow will have to do a frightful amount of scratching at his leg.”

“But the case is too dead to be worth it.”

“That won’t matter to James. He threw down his gage this morning. The jury will have to sit tight and hold on to the handle going round the curves, or he’ll have them in a hat before he’s done with them. And I’ve seen Bow-wow crumple up before now.”

“So have we all.”

“Like all notorious barkers his voice is the best part about him.”

“For my part, I think you are going too fast. The lad is not so wonderful as all this. He has done nothing out of the common as far as I can see.”

“No, dear boy,” said Jumbo, “because you can never see anything. But a young sportsman who can cross-examine in that manner in his first murder case is made of the right stuff.”

“But the witness was as easy as pie. She didn’t know where she was or what she was saying.”

“And he took an amazing advantage of her.”

“So would any one else.”

“They would, but in a very different way.”

“His cross-examination will amount to nothing, in spite of the time it wasted.”

“Will it not, though? That is all you know of a sentimental jury of your countrymen.”

“His attack on the police was monstrous, and he had no right to put questions in the form he did.”

“So thought Weekes, so thought Bow-wow, but he put them all the same. And what is more, the foreman of the jury, a highly respectable greengrocer, took cognizance.”

“Well, where does his amazingness come in? She only answered ‘yes’ to everything.”

“Had he wanted her to answer ‘no’ to everything she would have done so.”

“Of course she would. Everybody could see that.”

“Yes, dear boy, and what does he do? Our young friend takes the liberty of inventing every one of his facts as he goes along. All that about her dealings with the police and the murdered man coming from her native village was so much fiction. It was a marvellous piece of improvisation.”

“We shall none of us believe that.”

“Of course you won’t, dear boys; you are not expected to. But as soon as he realized his opportunity he took an amazing advantage of it. It was daring, I grant you, an unparalleled piece of effrontery. I don’t know another man at the bar who, had he been capable of a _coup_ of that kind, would have ventured to play it. The whole thing was the most audacious piece of work ever seen.”

“But, my dear Jum, he had no right to do a thing of that kind.”

“Of course not, dear boy, but he did it.”

“But why didn’t Weekes stop him?”

“Because Weekes did not know any more than you. He would be the last man in the world to see a thing of that kind.”

“Then why didn’t Topott call his attention to it?”

“Topott also was completely taken in.”

“Then by your own showing, Jum, you were the cleverest man in court this morning?”

“The cleverest but one, dear old boy. My young friend Jem Smith was the cleverest by very long chalks, but my perspicacity is deserving of honorable mention.”

“It is not the first time,” said the table, roaring with laughter, “that this fatal drink habit has caused you to see things.”

XXVI

THE PLEA

Northcote lunched with Mr. Whitcomb in a secluded place, where he partook of a concoction of egg and sherry, and two Abernethy biscuits. The solicitor’s attitude towards him had already changed. The fact that he had adhered to his refusal to call witnesses for the defence was allowed to pass, because he had been able to show that after all he was entitled to hold ideas of his own on the conduct of the case. His remarkable essay in cross-examination had restored the solicitor’s self-esteem; the dark horse he had chosen was not going to prove so unworthy after all.

“Of course you have got the judge dead against you now,” said the solicitor, “and I don’t quite see what it is going to do for you; but as far as it went it was very well done. I can’t think how you came to put all those questions. Where did you get your information? It was not on your brief.”

“Never mind where I got it,” said Northcote, with a laugh.

His composure was much greater than when his client had conversed with him in the court.

“If only the whole case were not so dead it might have proved enormously useful,” said the solicitor. “Yes, it was very well done.”

“Would you say that Tobin would have done it better?” said the young man, with an odd smile.

“No, I would not,” said the solicitor. “I will pay you the compliment of saying that even Michael Tobin would not have done it better.”

“Thank you,” said the young man drily. “And now, what would you like to lay against an acquittal?”

“Well, you are a cool hand, I must say,” exclaimed Mr. Whitcomb, somewhat taken aback. “For a beginner I don’t think I’ve met your equal.”

“What will you lay against an acquittal?”

“I don’t mind laying five hundred to fifty,” said the solicitor.

“Done,” said Northcote.

“If you had asked me this morning before you went into court you might have had five thousand to fifty.”

“Sorry I forgot to mention it, because I was just as sure then as I am now what the result will be.”

“Why you should have this confidence I cannot understand. Really, you know, you haven’t a leg to stand on.”

“Well, well; I am going to leave you now to take a stroll for ten minutes. See you soon.”

Northcote went out into the traffic to take a few mouthfuls of the London air. Fiery chemicals seemed to be consuming his nerves, and his brain was like a sheet of molten flame. But sensations so extreme in nowise distressed him. He felt the exhilaration of this strange yet not unpleasant condition to be the pledge of a harmony between mental and physical passion. It seemed to promise that the overweening consciousness of power that had haunted him for so many weeks in his solitude was about to be fulfilled. The painful self-distrust, the afflicting self-consciousness which had tormented and atrophied his energies in smaller cases had vanished altogether.

As he recalled the achievement of the morning, he felt a glow of exaltation. Looking back upon it his mind had been as clear as a crystal, exquisitely responsive to the will. Every bolt and nut of the complex mechanism had been in perfect order. The very words he had wished to use had sprung to his lips, the very tones in which he sought to embody them had proceeded out of his mouth. So profoundly harmonious had been his mind in its most intimate workings, that he had been able to convey fine shades of meaning to the jury without addressing to them a single word.