CHAPTERCXXXVI.THE JUSTICE OF THE PEACE AND THE PRISONER.Mr. Sutherland was run to earth.It was the first time during his lawless career that he had been brought under the ban of the law; nevertheless, he was by no means so downcast as persons would suppose.He had unlimited faith in his tact and address, which he hoped would stand him in good stead on the present occasion.He told Mr. Todd that he was perfectly innocent of the charge, and assumed an air of quiet resignation which was quite charming.He objected, however, to the ornaments on his wrists, and begged as a special favour to have them removed.Mr. Todd declined to oblige him, and said that he would have to bear them till they reached the magistrate’s house.Mr. Sutherland made a wry face, and declared that he was an injured person, and that the indignity was quite uncalled for, since he was a gentleman who was well able to meet the charge, and leave the court without a stain on his character.Mr. Todd only smiled at the last observation, and so the two—the prisoner and the detective—walked on conversing in what might be considered to a casual observer in a friendly and jocund manner.They had not very far to go, for the magistrate’s house was within three-quarters of a mile from the spot where the affray and capture had taken place.The magistrate and his wife were at this time seated together in the old oak dining-room of their habitation. He was reading the pages of a book on heraldry, watching from the window the broods of rooks who were cawing as they flew from bough to bough.These two persons lived in that which their tenants believed to be a palace, but which was in reality little better than a prison. They were forced to live in this great house, which they could hardly afford to repair, surrounded by these lands which were taxed in proportion to their extent, but which only yielded income in proportion to their real worth.The squire was always anxious. He was buried in hopeless poverty, engaged in an endless struggle to keep up appearances.His wife was always sad. Providence had given her but one real blessing—it was a son—and for this son, who had died in his youth, she had never ceased to grieve.That is why her face was always pale and her eyes so hollow—that is why she lived but in a reverie, and so seldom spoke. Her thoughts were always in the past; she had nothing to care for in the present—nothing to hope for in the future.They lived together, and yet so isolated; they seldom spoke to each other—they never quarrelled. Misfortune, which had at first made them cling closer to each other, had finished by making them gloomy, taciturn, almost misanthropical.They had now learned to nurse their own sorrows in their own hearts, and never to give vent to their troubles by words.Such misfortunes, however, as they had become inured to were now about to yield to another—poignant, appalling, dangerous.There was a sound of bustling and voices in the kitchen which reached into the dining-room. The servant presented himself and informed his master that Mr. Todd, of the local police force, wished to speak to him.The magistrate requested his domestic to show the officer in.Mr. Kensett rose. His face, which had been before melancholy and abstracted, now became dignified and severe.It was necessary to put on the mask of self-composure which he was obliged to wear before the world.Mr. Todd entered and made a respectful obeisance.“Beg your pardon, sir, and yours too, madam,” said he, in a conciliatory tone; “but if you please, sir, I’ve managed to capture the fellow who has been defrauding the bank by a false cheque.”“Indeed, Mr. Todd; I am pleased to hear it,” exclaimed the magistrate. “Caught the rascal—have you?”“Yes, sir. Mr. Wrench sent a telegram from Scotland-yard, and directed us to watch for our man.”“Quite right; very good of Mr. Wrench. He has done well. Where is the culprit?”“I have him here, your worship.”“Oh here—eh?”“Yes, sir.”“That’s better still. Bring him in; and you, my dear——” observed the magistrate, glancing at his wife.Mrs. Kensett obeyed his gesture, took the hint, and left the room.The magistrate was astonished at the aristocratic and gentlemanly appearance of the young man who was conducted into his presence by the police officer.“Is this the accused?” said he.“Yes, your worship.”“Under what circumstances was he arrested?” was the next query.The officer explained all those particulars with which the reader is already acquainted.“Have you searched him?”“Yes sir.”“With what result?”“The four hundred pounds paid by the bank have been found upon him.”“The cheque is a forged one—is it?”“The signature is genuine, but the amount has been altered.”“We shall want the drawer and the bank clerks to depose to this fact.”“They will be forthcoming, your worship. I don’t think there is much mistake about the forgery.”Mr. Kensett took a volume from his book-case, which he consulted as to the law in such cases.“What have you to say to the grave charge preferred against you, young man?” said the magistrate, addressing himself to the prisoner.“I deny itin toto,” said Sutherland, in an indignant tone. “It is utterly false. I have changed a cheque, it is true. That I do not for a moment dispute; but as to tampering with it I do not admit.”“Well, if you are innocent, I hope and trust you will be able to prove such to be the case; but you will have to be detained.”“Detain an innocent man! It’s most unjust!” ejaculated the prisoner.“Of that I am the best judge,” quietly observed the magistrate. “If you had been innocent it is not at all likely you would have made such a desperate attempt to escape. However, I should be sorry to prejudge the case, and shall, therefore, forbear from making any further observations. Mr. Todd, you will have to bring this young man to the court by ten o’clock to-morrow morning, and be prepared with what evidence you can by that time. Enough must be procured to justify a remand, do you understand?”“I quite understand your worship.”“Am I to be locked up till that time, sir?” said Sutherland.“Certainly, you must remain in custody till the morning.”Sutherland approached the table, and taking a pen between the tips of his fingers, wrote two words upon a slip of paper.When the magistrate read these two words he became frightfully pale.“You see, sir,” said Sutherland, “this is information which would be of material value to the cause of justice. I must, however, decline to enter into the matter before witnesses, and——”“Clearly so,” interrupted the magistrate. “It would not be desirable for you to do so. I don’t desire it for a moment.”“Then, sir, all I ask of you is to give me a private interview.”“I am in duty bound to accede to your request. Mr. Todd, the prisoner has secrets of importance to communicate, and will you, therefore, be good enough to wait in one of the upstair rooms?”“Certainly, your worship.”The magistrate rang the bell. A servant appeared to answer to the summons, and Mr. Todd was conducted into another apartment in the magistrate’s house.When alone with the prisoner Mr. Kensett turned the key of the dining-room, and looked inquiringly at Sutherland.“Now, sir,” said he, “you have the opportunity of explaining yourself. You have written upon this paperyour grandson. I do not know what you mean. I have no grandson, and if this is but aruse, a trick on your part, I shall take very good care that you shall be severely punished.”“It is no trick orruse,” quietly observed Mr. Sutherland. “It is nothing of the sort.”“Well, sir, I fancy you will find it difficult to impose upon me.”“I have no desire to do so, Mr. Kensett. On the contrary, I wish to give you valuable information.”“These are but idle words,” cried the magistrate, “a mere sound.”“Permit me to relate to you a little story. I am sure it will not only surprise, but will interest you much. With your kind permission I will take a seat. Am I constrained to wear these handcuffs? They are by no means agreeable.”“Let me hear what you have to say. As to the handcuffs that is a question which rests with the officer who has you in charge,” returned the magistrate.“They are needless appendages, but we will not discuss the advisability of submitting me to this indignity—so let it pass. So if you are agreeable I will at once proceed with my narrative.”“The incident which I am about to relate to you occurred seven-and-twenty years ago, come next September. On the night of the eleventh of that month a woman, with a baby in her arms, proceeded through the bye-road leading to Saltwich. She was in the depths of trouble, so I have been given to understand, and bore in her arms a newly-born infant.”Mr. Sutherland paused, and placed his hand on his forehead as if to collect his thoughts.The magistrate seemed to be almost stupefied with astonishment, but forbore from making any observation.The prisoner proceeded—“The woman’s name was Isabel Purvis; she is the heroine of my story.”The magistrate uttered an exclamation of surprise and horror.“Doubtless the name may be familiar to you, sir,” said his companion. “Well, as I have already observed, she went by the name of Isabel Purvis, but her real name was Kensett.”“It is false,” cried the magistrate, “utterly false. She had no legal right to the name of Kensett.”“I don’t wish to contradict a gentleman in your position,” returned Sutherland, “but I think you will find what I have just said is true in substance, and, in fact, her real name was Kensett.”“I am lost!” cried the magistrate.“Lost in wonder, doubtless, but not yet lost, I trust, in the extensive sense usually applied to that word. But this is digression. To continue: It was a cheerless night, the wind was beginning to rise, and moaned among the trees of the forest by which your house is so gracefully encircled, the rain dashed in torrents against the windows as if the very elements—but you can imagine the rest.”“I can do nothing of the sort, sir. I don’t know to what you would allude.”“Well, Mr. Kensett, I assure you that I have every reason for believing that what I am about to tell you is correct in every particular. The woman placed her child on the doorstep of a house, and then fled precipitately; but she did not escape—she was arrested by the village constable upon the charge of attempting to murder her offspring. You were, on that night, seated in this room, as you are now—on one hand a book of the law to assist your memory—on the other hand a Bible—before you a felon. You were alone with this criminal, as you are alone with me now, and you were in the power of this criminal, as you are now in mine.”“In your power?”“Most completely. But to my story. This woman, who was charged with abandoning her offspring, was not so bad as people were led to suppose. The father of her child was your own son—was Mr. Robert Everhard Kensett—he went to sea, and the ship he set sail in foundered, and all hands on board were lost.”The magistrate uttered a groan.“He was not only the father of the child but the husband of its mother.”“I never can—I never will believe it,” cried Mr. Kensett, in an agonised tone of voice. “It is not possible.”“It is not only possible but an actual fact. You might have read the Roman history, sir. It is possible that you might have heard of Brutus, the first consul. However, it is very certain you did not attempt to imitate him. You aided your daughter-in-law to escape from this house, gave her some money and exacted a solemn oath from her that she would never trouble you again. That is true—is it not?”“I will not deny it. It is true.”“Then it appears to me that you are in my power.”The magistrate tried to collect his bewildered thoughts.“On that night,” said he, “there was a legal paper in the possession of the prisoner. I was, therefore, in her power, but were you to state these circumstances in court you would not be believed.”Sutherland smiled.“I will not give you the second chapter of my story. You evince but little curiosity, and are perhaps not anxious to have it completed, but remember the words which I have written down, and to which I have not yet given you the clue.”“I will hear you to the end,” said Kensett; “but wait awhile, Mr. Todd will wonder what has so detained me.”He went to the door and called the officer by name. Mr. Todd came down from the upstairs room.“Ah, Todd,” cried the magistrate, “it appears that this young man will detain me much longer than I had at first expected. You had better have something to eat and drink. The servants will bring you what we have in the house,”.“Thank you, sir. It will be very acceptable.”“Good. Then make yourself at home. When this young fellow has finished his—ahem—confession, I will call you.”“All right, your worship, I am in no hurry.”Mr. Kensett shut the door and again turned the key.
Mr. Sutherland was run to earth.
It was the first time during his lawless career that he had been brought under the ban of the law; nevertheless, he was by no means so downcast as persons would suppose.
He had unlimited faith in his tact and address, which he hoped would stand him in good stead on the present occasion.
He told Mr. Todd that he was perfectly innocent of the charge, and assumed an air of quiet resignation which was quite charming.
He objected, however, to the ornaments on his wrists, and begged as a special favour to have them removed.
Mr. Todd declined to oblige him, and said that he would have to bear them till they reached the magistrate’s house.
Mr. Sutherland made a wry face, and declared that he was an injured person, and that the indignity was quite uncalled for, since he was a gentleman who was well able to meet the charge, and leave the court without a stain on his character.
Mr. Todd only smiled at the last observation, and so the two—the prisoner and the detective—walked on conversing in what might be considered to a casual observer in a friendly and jocund manner.
They had not very far to go, for the magistrate’s house was within three-quarters of a mile from the spot where the affray and capture had taken place.
The magistrate and his wife were at this time seated together in the old oak dining-room of their habitation. He was reading the pages of a book on heraldry, watching from the window the broods of rooks who were cawing as they flew from bough to bough.
These two persons lived in that which their tenants believed to be a palace, but which was in reality little better than a prison. They were forced to live in this great house, which they could hardly afford to repair, surrounded by these lands which were taxed in proportion to their extent, but which only yielded income in proportion to their real worth.
The squire was always anxious. He was buried in hopeless poverty, engaged in an endless struggle to keep up appearances.
His wife was always sad. Providence had given her but one real blessing—it was a son—and for this son, who had died in his youth, she had never ceased to grieve.
That is why her face was always pale and her eyes so hollow—that is why she lived but in a reverie, and so seldom spoke. Her thoughts were always in the past; she had nothing to care for in the present—nothing to hope for in the future.
They lived together, and yet so isolated; they seldom spoke to each other—they never quarrelled. Misfortune, which had at first made them cling closer to each other, had finished by making them gloomy, taciturn, almost misanthropical.
They had now learned to nurse their own sorrows in their own hearts, and never to give vent to their troubles by words.
Such misfortunes, however, as they had become inured to were now about to yield to another—poignant, appalling, dangerous.
There was a sound of bustling and voices in the kitchen which reached into the dining-room. The servant presented himself and informed his master that Mr. Todd, of the local police force, wished to speak to him.
The magistrate requested his domestic to show the officer in.
Mr. Kensett rose. His face, which had been before melancholy and abstracted, now became dignified and severe.
It was necessary to put on the mask of self-composure which he was obliged to wear before the world.
Mr. Todd entered and made a respectful obeisance.
“Beg your pardon, sir, and yours too, madam,” said he, in a conciliatory tone; “but if you please, sir, I’ve managed to capture the fellow who has been defrauding the bank by a false cheque.”
“Indeed, Mr. Todd; I am pleased to hear it,” exclaimed the magistrate. “Caught the rascal—have you?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Wrench sent a telegram from Scotland-yard, and directed us to watch for our man.”
“Quite right; very good of Mr. Wrench. He has done well. Where is the culprit?”
“I have him here, your worship.”
“Oh here—eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s better still. Bring him in; and you, my dear——” observed the magistrate, glancing at his wife.
Mrs. Kensett obeyed his gesture, took the hint, and left the room.
The magistrate was astonished at the aristocratic and gentlemanly appearance of the young man who was conducted into his presence by the police officer.
“Is this the accused?” said he.
“Yes, your worship.”
“Under what circumstances was he arrested?” was the next query.
The officer explained all those particulars with which the reader is already acquainted.
“Have you searched him?”
“Yes sir.”
“With what result?”
“The four hundred pounds paid by the bank have been found upon him.”
“The cheque is a forged one—is it?”
“The signature is genuine, but the amount has been altered.”
“We shall want the drawer and the bank clerks to depose to this fact.”
“They will be forthcoming, your worship. I don’t think there is much mistake about the forgery.”
Mr. Kensett took a volume from his book-case, which he consulted as to the law in such cases.
“What have you to say to the grave charge preferred against you, young man?” said the magistrate, addressing himself to the prisoner.
“I deny itin toto,” said Sutherland, in an indignant tone. “It is utterly false. I have changed a cheque, it is true. That I do not for a moment dispute; but as to tampering with it I do not admit.”
“Well, if you are innocent, I hope and trust you will be able to prove such to be the case; but you will have to be detained.”
“Detain an innocent man! It’s most unjust!” ejaculated the prisoner.
“Of that I am the best judge,” quietly observed the magistrate. “If you had been innocent it is not at all likely you would have made such a desperate attempt to escape. However, I should be sorry to prejudge the case, and shall, therefore, forbear from making any further observations. Mr. Todd, you will have to bring this young man to the court by ten o’clock to-morrow morning, and be prepared with what evidence you can by that time. Enough must be procured to justify a remand, do you understand?”
“I quite understand your worship.”
“Am I to be locked up till that time, sir?” said Sutherland.
“Certainly, you must remain in custody till the morning.”
Sutherland approached the table, and taking a pen between the tips of his fingers, wrote two words upon a slip of paper.
When the magistrate read these two words he became frightfully pale.
“You see, sir,” said Sutherland, “this is information which would be of material value to the cause of justice. I must, however, decline to enter into the matter before witnesses, and——”
“Clearly so,” interrupted the magistrate. “It would not be desirable for you to do so. I don’t desire it for a moment.”
“Then, sir, all I ask of you is to give me a private interview.”
“I am in duty bound to accede to your request. Mr. Todd, the prisoner has secrets of importance to communicate, and will you, therefore, be good enough to wait in one of the upstair rooms?”
“Certainly, your worship.”
The magistrate rang the bell. A servant appeared to answer to the summons, and Mr. Todd was conducted into another apartment in the magistrate’s house.
When alone with the prisoner Mr. Kensett turned the key of the dining-room, and looked inquiringly at Sutherland.
“Now, sir,” said he, “you have the opportunity of explaining yourself. You have written upon this paperyour grandson. I do not know what you mean. I have no grandson, and if this is but aruse, a trick on your part, I shall take very good care that you shall be severely punished.”
“It is no trick orruse,” quietly observed Mr. Sutherland. “It is nothing of the sort.”
“Well, sir, I fancy you will find it difficult to impose upon me.”
“I have no desire to do so, Mr. Kensett. On the contrary, I wish to give you valuable information.”
“These are but idle words,” cried the magistrate, “a mere sound.”
“Permit me to relate to you a little story. I am sure it will not only surprise, but will interest you much. With your kind permission I will take a seat. Am I constrained to wear these handcuffs? They are by no means agreeable.”
“Let me hear what you have to say. As to the handcuffs that is a question which rests with the officer who has you in charge,” returned the magistrate.
“They are needless appendages, but we will not discuss the advisability of submitting me to this indignity—so let it pass. So if you are agreeable I will at once proceed with my narrative.”
“The incident which I am about to relate to you occurred seven-and-twenty years ago, come next September. On the night of the eleventh of that month a woman, with a baby in her arms, proceeded through the bye-road leading to Saltwich. She was in the depths of trouble, so I have been given to understand, and bore in her arms a newly-born infant.”
Mr. Sutherland paused, and placed his hand on his forehead as if to collect his thoughts.
The magistrate seemed to be almost stupefied with astonishment, but forbore from making any observation.
The prisoner proceeded—
“The woman’s name was Isabel Purvis; she is the heroine of my story.”
The magistrate uttered an exclamation of surprise and horror.
“Doubtless the name may be familiar to you, sir,” said his companion. “Well, as I have already observed, she went by the name of Isabel Purvis, but her real name was Kensett.”
“It is false,” cried the magistrate, “utterly false. She had no legal right to the name of Kensett.”
“I don’t wish to contradict a gentleman in your position,” returned Sutherland, “but I think you will find what I have just said is true in substance, and, in fact, her real name was Kensett.”
“I am lost!” cried the magistrate.
“Lost in wonder, doubtless, but not yet lost, I trust, in the extensive sense usually applied to that word. But this is digression. To continue: It was a cheerless night, the wind was beginning to rise, and moaned among the trees of the forest by which your house is so gracefully encircled, the rain dashed in torrents against the windows as if the very elements—but you can imagine the rest.”
“I can do nothing of the sort, sir. I don’t know to what you would allude.”
“Well, Mr. Kensett, I assure you that I have every reason for believing that what I am about to tell you is correct in every particular. The woman placed her child on the doorstep of a house, and then fled precipitately; but she did not escape—she was arrested by the village constable upon the charge of attempting to murder her offspring. You were, on that night, seated in this room, as you are now—on one hand a book of the law to assist your memory—on the other hand a Bible—before you a felon. You were alone with this criminal, as you are alone with me now, and you were in the power of this criminal, as you are now in mine.”
“In your power?”
“Most completely. But to my story. This woman, who was charged with abandoning her offspring, was not so bad as people were led to suppose. The father of her child was your own son—was Mr. Robert Everhard Kensett—he went to sea, and the ship he set sail in foundered, and all hands on board were lost.”
The magistrate uttered a groan.
“He was not only the father of the child but the husband of its mother.”
“I never can—I never will believe it,” cried Mr. Kensett, in an agonised tone of voice. “It is not possible.”
“It is not only possible but an actual fact. You might have read the Roman history, sir. It is possible that you might have heard of Brutus, the first consul. However, it is very certain you did not attempt to imitate him. You aided your daughter-in-law to escape from this house, gave her some money and exacted a solemn oath from her that she would never trouble you again. That is true—is it not?”
“I will not deny it. It is true.”
“Then it appears to me that you are in my power.”
The magistrate tried to collect his bewildered thoughts.
“On that night,” said he, “there was a legal paper in the possession of the prisoner. I was, therefore, in her power, but were you to state these circumstances in court you would not be believed.”
Sutherland smiled.
“I will not give you the second chapter of my story. You evince but little curiosity, and are perhaps not anxious to have it completed, but remember the words which I have written down, and to which I have not yet given you the clue.”
“I will hear you to the end,” said Kensett; “but wait awhile, Mr. Todd will wonder what has so detained me.”
He went to the door and called the officer by name. Mr. Todd came down from the upstairs room.
“Ah, Todd,” cried the magistrate, “it appears that this young man will detain me much longer than I had at first expected. You had better have something to eat and drink. The servants will bring you what we have in the house,”.
“Thank you, sir. It will be very acceptable.”
“Good. Then make yourself at home. When this young fellow has finished his—ahem—confession, I will call you.”
“All right, your worship, I am in no hurry.”
Mr. Kensett shut the door and again turned the key.