"You are aware, sir, that I made the prisoner a handsome offer?"
"I have been told that you made a certain offer."
"I offered him the very large sum of 5,000 if he would sell his succession. If he consents the princ.i.p.al witnesses in the case shall not appear."
"Mr. Probus, as the case stands now I would not take 50,000 for the price of his chance."
Again he was going away, and again Mr. Probus called him back.
"We were speaking," he said, "of the defence of that unhappy young man, Mr. William Halliday. Of course I am concerned in the matter only as an accidental bystander--and, of course, an old friend of the family. There is to be a defence, you say."
"a.s.suredly."
"I have always understood that the young man was quite poor, and that his wife"s friends were also quite poor."
"That is true. But a man may be quite poor, yet may have friends who will fight every point rather than see the man condemned to death--and on a false charge."
"False?"
"Quite false, I a.s.sure you."
"Sir, you surprise me. To be sure I did not see the a.s.sault. Yet the evidence was most clear. Two gentlemen, unknown to each other--another unknown to both who witnessed the affair--how can such evidence as that be got over?"
"Well, Mr. Probus, it is not for me to say how it will be got over. You are, I believe, giving evidence on what may be called a minor point; you will therefore be in the Court on the occasion of the Trial. I can say nothing, of course; but I should advise all persons engaged in the case to abstain from appearing if possible. I am a.s.sured that things quite unexpected will take place. Meantime, to return to the point for which I came here--advise your client to prepare himself to meet claims rising out of his wife"s debts to the sum of many thousands."
"How many thousands, did you say?"
"Forty thousand, I believe."
"Good Heavens, sir, what can a woman be doing to get through such an enormous sum?"
"Indeed, I cannot inform you. It is an age in which women call themselves the equals of men. Your client, Mr. Probus, has got through a great deal more than that in the same time, including, I believe, the 25,000 which you lent him and which he cannot repay----"
"What do you know about these affairs, Sir?"
"Nothing--nothing. I shall see you in Court on the day of the Trial, Mr.
Probus."
He went away leaving, as he intended, his brother in the law in an anxious condition, and having said nothing that would lead him to suspect that the conspiracy was entirely discovered, and would be laid open in court.
Then came the last day before the Trial.
In the afternoon all my friends were gathered together in my cell. The attorney had read for the last time my statement of defence.
He looked through it once more. "I do not believe," he said, "that the case will get so far. Whatever happens, Mr. Halliday, you will do well to remember that you have to thank Madame here, and I do not believe it will be possible for you to thank her enough, until you find out for yourself the sacrifices she has made for you and the risks she is running on your behalf. I can but hope, Madame, that the sacrifices may be made up to you, and that the risks may prove illusory."
She smiled, but it was a wan smile. "Whatever the result," she said, "believe me, Sir, I shall never regret either the sacrifices, if you call them such, or the risks, if by either we can defeat this most abominable conspiracy."
"I was in hopes," said the attorney, "that Mr. Probus might be terrified, and so might withdraw at the last moment. It is easy to withdraw. He has only to order the two princ.i.p.al witnesses not to attend, when the case falls to the ground. As we are now free from all anxiety," I sighed, "well, from all but the very natural anxiety that belongs to a prison and to the uncertainty of the law, it is better for us that he should put in all the witnesses when we can establish our charge of conspiracy. I marvel, indeed, greatly that a man so astute should not perceive that defence, where a King"s Counsel and a Junior of great repute are engaged must mean a serious case, and that a serious case only means denial of the main charge. Else there would be no defence at all. Well," he rose--"I drink your health, Mr. Halliday, in this excellent Madeira, and a speedy release to you."
"And I, Will," said Tom, pouring out another gla.s.s, "I, too, drink a speedy release to you."
So they went away.
Then Jenny got up. "Cousin Will," she said sadly, "I have done all I could for you. If the Black Jack knew to-night what would be said in Court to-morrow, there would be murder. They will all be in Court--every one--to hear the splendid perjuries of the Bishop and the Captain. Those two worthies expect a brave day: indeed, it will be a great day for them, yet not quite in the manner they antic.i.p.ate. Well "tis the last night in prison, Will. To-morrow thou wilt be back again in the Cottage beside the river. Happy Will! Happy Alice! As for me----" she sighed wearily.
"Why, Jenny, as for you--what can happen to you?"
"Nothing can happen to me," she replied, dolorously.
"Then, why so sad?"
"Because, from the outset I have foreseen something dark and dreadful, but I knew not what. I see myself in a strange place--but I know not where. I look around at the places which I know--and I cannot see myself. I am neither at Drury Lane nor the Garden: nor am I at Soho Square. I look in the grave, but I am not there. I am to live--but I know not where or how. All is to be changed----"
"Jenny," Alice caught her hand. "This reading of the future. It is wicked since the Lord hath not thought fit to reveal what is to happen."
She repeated stupidly, as one who understands not, "Since the Lord--what Lord?--what do you mean? Alice, how can I help it? I can read the future. Sometimes it is like a printed book to me. Well--no matter.
Farewell, Will. Sleep sound to-night. To-morrow we shall meet in the Court. Good-night, dear woman." She threw her arms round Alice, kissed her and went away.
And as for what pa.s.sed between husband and wife--what tender things were said--what prayers for faith--on the eve of the day of Life or Death: of Honour or of Shame; shall they, too, be written on a page which is open to every curious eye and to every mocking eye?
CHAPTER XII
THE TRIAL
It is a most terrible thing for a man of sensibility to stand in the dock of the Old Bailey before the awful array of Judges, Lord Mayor, Sheriffs and Aldermen. I know very well that most of the hardened wretches that stand there have no sense of terror and little of anxiety.
For them the Judge is like that fabled Sister who cuts the thread of life: they have come to the end of their rope: their time is up: they are fatalists in a stupid way: the sentence is pa.s.sed: they bear no malice against the informer: the game has been played according to the rules--what more can a man desire? Tyburn awaits them. And afterwards?
They neither know nor do they care.
Early on the morning of the trial, Mr. Dewberry came to see me. He was cheerful, and rubbed his hands with great satisfaction. "The case," he said, "is complete. Never was a case more complete or more astonishing as you shall see." He would not explain further: he said that walls, even in Newgate, have ears: that I must rely upon his word. "Sir," he said, "so much I will explain because it may give you ease. Never has a man gone forth to be tried for his life, with a greater confidence in the result than you ought to have. And, with that a.s.surance enter the Court with a light heart."
They knocked off my irons before going into Court. Thus relieved, I was marched along a dismal pa.s.sage, leading from the prison to the Old Bailey. The Court was crowded, not so much out of compliment to me, but because it was bruited abroad among the rogues of St. Giles"s that two of their body were that day about to achieve greatness. They were, truly: but not in the way that was expected. The crowd, in fact, consisted chiefly of pickpockets and thieves, with their ladies. And the heroes of the day were the Bishop and the Captain.
At first, a prisoner entering the court, sees nothing. When the mist before his eyes clears away he observes the jury being sworn in--one after the other, they lift the great chained Bible and kiss its leathern cover, black with ten thousand kisses, and take their seats: he observes the counsel arranging their papers: the officers of the court standing about and the crowd in the gallery and about the doors: the box for the witnesses--my heart sank when I saw sitting together my four enemies, looking calm and a.s.sured, as if there was no doubt possible as to the results. Nay, the Captain seemed unable to repress or to conceal the pride he felt in imagination, at thinking of the figure he should cut.
Mr. Ramage, my own witness, I saw modestly sitting in a corner. Tom Shirley, another witness for me, if he would prove of any use, was also there. As I entered the dock Mr. Probus turned and his lips moved as if he was speaking to Tom. I could not hear what he said, but I knew it, without the necessity of ears. He said, "Sir, I saw you in Newgate three weeks ago. Your friend might have saved his life, had he accepted my offer. It is now too late." Then he turned his hatchet face to me and grinned. Well--he grins no longer. Under the Dock stood Alice, and with her, closely veiled, Jenny herself. They took my hands: Alice held the right and Jenny the left. "Courage, my dear," said Alice. "It will soon be over now." "It is all over already," whispered Jenny. "There is such evidence as will astonish you--and the whole world." She kissed my hand and dropped a tear upon it. I was to learn afterwards what she meant, and what were her own sacrifices and perils in bringing forward this evidence.
Then Mr. Dewberry came bustling up. "That is your lawyer, Mr. Caterham, King"s Counsel, now arranging his papers. I was with him yesterday. He will make a great case--a very great case--out of this. The attorney arranges it all and the higher branch gets the credit of it all. Never mind. That is your Junior, behind, Mr. Stanton. There"s a head for you: there"s an eye. I can always tell what they think of the case by the way they arrange their papers. The Counsel in front of him is Serjeant Cosins, King"s Counsel, an able man--oh, yes--an able man: he conducts the prosecution. We shall open his eyes presently. He thinks he has got an ordinary case to conduct. He will see. He will see."
Then the Judges came in: the Lord Mayor, Mr. Justice Parker, the Aldermen, the Recorder, and the Sheriffs. The Lord Mayor sat in the middle under the great sword of Justice: but the case was conducted by Mr. Justice Parker, who sat on his right hand. I looked along the row of faces on the Bench. They all seemed white, cold, stern, hard and unforgiving. Despite a.s.surances, my heart sank low.
I pa.s.s over the reading of the indictment, my pleading and the opening of the case. The Prosecutor said that although it was a most simple case, which would not occupy the attention of the court very long, it was at the same time one of the most flagrant and audacious robberies that had ever been brought before the court of the Old Bailey: that the facts were few: that he was not aware of any possible line of defence: "Oh yes," observed my Counsel, smiling, "a very possible line of defence": that he, for one, should be prepared to receive any line of defence that could be set up. But he thought his learned brother would not waste the time of the Court.
He then rehea.r.s.ed the history of the facts and proceeded to call the witnesses. First he called Samuel Carstairs, Doctor of Divinity (I do not intend to set down the whole of the evidence given by him or by the others because you already know it).
The Doctor, with alacrity, stepped into the witness-box: he was clean shaven, in a new wig, a silken ca.s.sock; snow white bands; and a flowing gown. But that his face was red and his neck swollen and his appearance fleshy and sensual--things which may sometimes be observed even among the City Clergy--he presented the appearance of a prosperous ecclesiastic. For my own part I can never satisfy myself whether he was in Holy Orders at all. One hopes, for the sake of the Church that he was not. After kissing the Testament with fervour, he turned an unblushing front to the Prosecutor. He said that he was a Clergyman, a Doctor of Divinity, formerly of Trinity College, Dublin, and some time the holder of certain benefices in the neighbourhood of that city. He deposed that on the night in question he was making his way through Leicester Fields to Charing Cross at the time of nine in the evening or thereabouts: that suddenly a young man rushed out of some dark recess and flourished a cudgel over him, crying, "Your money or your life!" That being a man of peace, as becomes his profession, he instantly complied with the demand and handed over his purse: that he also cried out either on account of the extremity of his fear, or for help: that help came in the shape of a stranger, who felled the ruffian: that they called the watch: carried the senseless robber to the guard-house, and that the witness"s purse was found in his pocket.