"Speak up, please," admonished the coroner, "the jury can"t hear you.
You came here, I understand, prepared to make a statement?"
"Yes, sir."
"Of what nature?"
The man shifted his position from one leg to the other. Heavy beads of perspiration stood out on his pallid forehead.
"Go on, Jim; don"t be afeeard," came from the body of the court.
"Silence there!" commanded the usher.
"I wished to say, sir," resumed the man, trying to steady his voice, "that the deceased whom I saw lying in the coffin yonder is my own son, Paul Baker, sir."
"Your son!"
"My son, sir," a.s.serted the man somewhat more steadily, "my son, and "is mother"s, as is sitting over there. My son, Paul Baker, as left "ome two year ago come next Christmas. We all come "ere, sir, to-day, me and "is mother and sister an" Smith an" Jane--we all come "ere to swear to "im."
"Your son!"
The exclamation once more came from the coroner, but had any one else dared, that exclamation would have been echoed and reechoed by every mouth in the court room, coupled with emphatic e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of incredulity.
It was as if in a new castle of some grim, sleeping monster a magic wand had touched every somnolent spirit. Smelling salts and scented handkerchiefs were forgotten: the jurymen leaned forward half across the table, oblivious of their own dignity, in their endeavour to obtain a fuller view of this wielder of the magic wand: the beetle-like creature with the sad eyes and pale, hollow cheeks. Even the reporters--accustomed to sensational events--gave up scribbling in order to stare open-mouthed at the shabby figure standing by the table.
At first, of course, the predominant sensation was one of sweeping incredulity. Coroner and jury had met here to-day in this stuffy room in order to conduct an inquiry on the death of Philip de Mountford, heir presumptive to the earldom of Radclyffe. The crowd of fashionable and idle gapers had pushed and jostled in order to hear the ugly story of how wealth and position are fought for and intrigued for even at the cost of crime.
And now to think that the man who lay dead was just a bricklayer"s son! It was absolutely incredible. Not till a few moments later did the spectators realize that, if the seedy man at the table spoke truly, then they were witnessing a drama even more poignant than that of the original murder; a drama of deception and of fraud, and a mystery far deeper than that which had originally confronted the sensation mongers.
Strangely enough, incredulity died down, and died down very quickly. A subtle wave filled the murky atmosphere compelling every mind to belief, long before the man"s a.s.sertions were proved to be correct.
The most indifferent became conscious of an overwhelming conviction that the witness was speaking the truth.
This conviction was absolutely paramount in the minds of the chief actors in the play. To them all, to Colonel Harris and to Louisa, to Mr. Dobson and the solicitors, the truth of the statement was never in question. An unerring instinct forced them to believe: and such beliefs are as unconquerable as they are overwhelming. Truth that is an absolute, unquestionable truth finds its way to the mind, when the latter is attuned to subtle or psychic impressions.
And as the truth was borne in upon these people, so did they realize the fulness of its meaning, the deep significance of its portent.
To some of them it seemed as if in a brilliantly illuminated world, all the lights had suddenly been extinguished: to others, as if in a dark and intricate cavern, full of black, impenetrable shadows, dazzling lights had been suddenly switched on.
Louisa, looking across at Luke, saw that to him it meant the latter, and that some of the new, dazzling light had illumined the darkness of his soul.
Something of the tense rigidity of his att.i.tude had gone from him: not the sorrow perhaps, but the blank hopelessness of a misery that flounders in a sea of the unknown.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE WORLD IS SO LARGE
As for the man who had made the extraordinary a.s.sertion, he seemed quite unconscious of the effect which it had produced: as if the fact that the supposed heir to an earldom, being actually the son of a Clapham bricklayer, was one that found its natural place in every-day life.
He had his cap in his hand--a shabby, gray tweed cap--and he was twirling it between his fingers round and round with an irritatingly nervous gesture. His eyes now and again were furtively raised at the coroner, as if he were wondering anxiously what punishment would be meted out to him for having created so much commotion, and then with equal furtiveness he dropped them again. His shoulders were bowed and his knees parted company from each other, thus giving him more than ever the appearance of a beetle.
Of course the coroner had to recover his official manner as quickly as possible. But even to him the statement had come as a surprise. He had only known very vaguely that a witness had come forward at the eleventh hour, having only just had time to communicate with the police before the opening of the inquest.
In view of the importance of the evidence, the witness was called as soon as possible; what he had to say would materially affect the whole trend of the inquiry; he had, it seems, brought others with him--members of his own family among them--in order that they might corroborate the truth of what he said.
Quite a minute or so had elapsed in the meanwhile; then at last was the coroner able to resume with at least a semblance of official indifference:
"Now," he said, "let the jury understand a little more clearly what you said just now."
"What I said?" rejoined the man vaguely.
"Yes, what you said. Let us understand it clearly. You went to the mortuary this morning, and saw the body of the deceased?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you state here on oath that in the deceased you recognized your own son?"
"I"ll swear to "im!" replied the witness simply. "Ask "is mother there!"
And with a long, thin finger, generously edged with grime, he pointed to the woman in seedy black hat and shabby tweed jacket who sat quite close to Luke de Mountford.
"Never mind about his mother just now," admonished the coroner. "We want your statement first. You realize that you are on oath?"
"Yes, sir. I"ve sworn my Bible oath."
"And you understand the importance of an oath?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you swear that the body of the murdered man whom you saw in the mortuary chamber this morning is that of your son?"
"I swear to that, sir."
I believe that had coroner and jury and practically every man there present, dared to put their thoughts into words at that moment, the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n: "Well! I am blowed!" or "I"m d----d!" as the case might be--would have been generally heard throughout the room. The women, on the other hand, were far too excited even to think.
"Now," resumed the coroner, "tell the jury please when you first identified the deceased as your son?"
"This morning, sir."
"In the mortuary chamber?"
"Yes, sir."
"You had not seen the body before?"
"No, sir."