CHAPTERCXXXVII.MR. SUTHERLAND IS TRIUMPHANT—THE AMICABLE ARRANGEMENT.“Now, sir, you can proceed, if you please,” said the magistrate, sternly. “I have consented to hear what you have to say in this matter, but it does not necessarily follow that I place any reliance upon this specious tale of yours.”“Oh, dear me, no. Certainly not. You will, of course, take it for what it is worth. I am not the first man by a good many who has had the misfortune to be looked upon with doubt and mistrust.”“You will be pleased to confine yourself to the facts, and not indulge in extraneous or impertinent observations,” cried the magistrate.His companion bowed and said quietly—“The facts are in themselves significant enough.”“Are they?”“Yes, I hope so. Let me see, where did I leave off? Oh, I know, at that part of the narrative where you parted with this unfortunate woman. Well, Mr. Kensett, she went her ways. She kept her promise; for from that day to the present moment you have not seen or heard anything of her. Is that so?”“Yes, that is so.”The magistrate began to feel a vague fear, and shuddered in spite of himself.Mr. Sutherland continued—“The child was taken to the union, where it remained for some three or four years; then it was taken charge of by Mr. Searle, your wife’s brother. I believe he elected to be its natural protector, and placed it in charge of an old woman, whose name I do not at the present moment remember, but she was, so I have been told, a most worthy person, and did her duty, was mindful of her young charge. Any way the youngster thrived, and when old enough Mr. Searle apprenticed him to the late Mr. Jamblin, owner and occupier of Stoke Ferry Farm. The farmer had instructions to bring the lad up us an agriculturist. He obeyed the instructions given him by Mr. Searle. By injudicious punishments and injudicious pardons he taught this boy, whose father was dead, whose mother was a fugitive, and whose grandparents dared not acknowledge him, to be mischievous, discontented, and deceitful. Finally, he ran away from his foster father, and a reward was offered for his apprehension, but all efforts to regain this treasure proved ineffectual, and his relatives resigned themselves with Christian resignation to his loss.”Mr. Kensett was perfectly bewildered. He stretched his hand out mechanically towards the bell.Sutherland only smiled sardonically.“On reaching London,” said he, “after leaving Stoke Ferry Farm, the boy sold birds’ nests in the street, till he was adopted by a fence or receiver of stolen goods, who instructed him in the way of cheating, in which he soon became a proficient. He then passed into the hands of one of the most notorious thieves in the metropolis.”“Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed the magistrate, with a deep-drawn sigh. “Can this be possible?”Sutherland took no notice of this last observation, but went on.“In a twelvemonth,” he observed, “like Raphael and other great artists the boy had surpassed not only the expectations, but also thechefs d’œuvreof his master. At nineteen he became notorious—at twenty-one he became celebrated. Now he is a Claude Duval in politeness, a Lovelace in intrigue, a Richard Turpin on the highway, and will perhaps prove a Jack Sheppard among the prison locks.”Mr. Kensett began to have a dim perception of the terrible secret in store for him.“This man,” continued Sutherland, “this glorious hero to whom the London detectives, if they knew heathen mythology, would attribute the ring of Gyges, which rendered its possessor invisible, is myself, I, Alfred Purvis,aliasSutherland,aliasFortescue, who have the honour of standing before you now.”There was a pause. The magistrate was deeply moved.Presently he said, in a tone of anguish—“Do you mean to say, young man, that you are Alfred Purvis, who ran away from Stoke Ferry Farm?”“Most certainly I am,” answered the prisoner.“It appears to me to be altogether incredible.”“That is likely enough, sir, but it is a fact. You see, sir,” he said, calmly, “how intricate and mysterious are the ways of Providence. By a miracle I was saved from death in my infancy, and why? Most probably you have committed some crime, which has never been discovered. It is I who have been selected as an instrument of retribution. I own I would have preferred that I had been some one else, but——”“Silence, sir, this insolence is altogether intolerable! Me commit a crime! Are you mad to make such an assertion?”“Pardon me,” said Sutherland. “I did not make the assertion. I only threw it out as a suggestion, as a possibility, but no doubt the hypothesis is incorrect. It does not, however, in any way alter the leading facts connected with the history of your humble servant. You will find it difficult to set aside the relationship which exists between us.”Mr. Kensett rose from his seat, and paced the room with rapid strides.“It is enough,” he presently said. “There is no further need for threats or taunts if what you have been saying is true.”“It is true—every word of it.”“Well, if such be the case, you are the son of my son—you have my blood in your veins—you are a felon.”“That has yet to be proved.”“I hope it never will be, for both our sakes.”“I hope not.”“Ah, but this is indeed terrible; I know not how to act.”“Let me go!”“I cannot do that. Do you think you will be able to prove your innocence when the magisterial inquiry takes place?”“You ask me a plain question?”“Yes, I do.”“And require a plain answer?”“Certainly.”“Well, then, Mr. Kensett, I don’t think I shall be able to prove my innocence, and therefore it is advisable that you aid me to escape.”“I will save you if possible,” said the magistate, in a low voice. “But how is it to be effected? That’s the question.”“How!” cried Sutherland. “It is easy enough, I fancy.”“Not without compromising myself; I am quite powerless in this case, and yet——”“You have no wish to see your grandson cast into a cell?”The magistrate shuddered.“Suppose you let me overpower you—tie you to a chair, and then get clear off.”“Impossible!”“Ah, it’s possible enough if you will only oblige me by taking off these handcuffs.”“I dare not do it. No, we will devise some better scheme.”“I am at your mercy—it is not for me to dictate. I leave the affair in your hands.”Mr. Kensett considered for some little time and then said—“I do not approve of your scheme—it is not practicable; but I shall save you, Alfred Purvis—save you for my poor dear boy’s sake. Listen—you will have to submit to a short term of imprisonment—you must be locked up for the night. In the morning you will be brought before the police-court, and evidence will be offered to justify me in remanding the case—this I shall do.”“And what then?”“Apply for bail, which I will grant. If the case does not assume a very serious aspect, possibly I may feel justified in letting you out on your own recogniances. The rest is an easy matter. Go abroad; get out of the way till the offence is blown over. You can do this, I suppose.”“I shall not trouble myself to come up for a second hearing—you may depend upon that,” said Sutherland, with a mocking laugh.“And if I do this you will promise to lead a new life, and strive as best you can to make atonement for your past errors. Will you promise?”“Oh! certainly. I pass my word—that is sufficient,” replied the prisoner carelessly.“You are not sincere, and do not mean what you say.”“I declare most positively I do, sir,” was the prompt reply.“I wish I could believe you. Oh! but this is a terrible trial to me. Even now I find it difficult to believe you are the boy who, years ago, worked at Stoke Ferry Farm.”I will give you proofs, sir—incontrovertible proofs, if you need them, before many days are over our heads.”“Peace! silence! Let it pass on. I believe your story, and so that’s enough. I see the likeness to my dead son when I gaze on your features. Yes, I believe all you have said. I took no notice of you when a child; now I would risk anything to save you from ignominy and disgrace. Leave it to me.”The magistrate went to the door, and called out in a loud tone for Mr. Todd, who at once made his appearance in answer to the summons.“The prisoner is persistent in his declaration of innocence, Mr. Todd,” said the magistrate, in his habitual official tone of voice.“Is he, sir?” said the officer. “We know what that is worth.”“Yes—oh, dear, yes—of course, Todd. Still, I do hope the young man, who is evidently well educated, may not be so bad as we think. However, you must take charge of him, and bring what witnesses you have to the court to-morrow morning. By the way, there is, I think, hardly any necessity now for the handcuffs. They can be removed.”“Ah, certainly, your worship, if you wish it.”Mr. Todd, with marvellous dexterity, removed the objectionable ruffles from the wrists of Mr. Sutherland, who was deeply sensible of this little favour. He was then marched off to gaol.When he and his captor had gone, the magistrate fell into a chair, covered his face with his hands and sobbed like a child.He had hardly recovered himself from his first paroxysm of grief when the voice of Ashbrook was heard in the outer hall, inquiring of the servant for Mr. Kensett.The magistrate pulled himself together as best he could, and assumed an air of official sternness.“Oh, your sarvint, sir,” cried Ashbrook, entering the parlour. “I be a little late—leastways later than I had intended. Beg pardon, squire, but I hope I aint intruding.”“Not at all, my friend, so pray be seated,” exclaimed Kensett. “I am glad to see you.”“Thanks. I ought to ha’ been a little earlier, but it can’t be helped, I’ve been detained. I wanted to say summut about Mr. Todd. He’s done his duty, and I am glad I coom up just in time to render him timely service. However, what I wanted to make known to your worship is this, Mr. Todd did his duty and fought like a brick.”“Ah, I have no doubt. Todd is a most efficient officer.”“He brought in the prisoner, I s’pose,” said Ashbrook.“Yes, the young rascal is locked up, and will be brought before me to-morrow morning for examination.”“Ah, just so. Well, Mr. Kensett, I know summat of the varmint; he be a bad lot.”“You know him, Ashbrook—do you?”“Yes, sir; he passed himself off as a gentleman, and was my guest at Stoke Ferry Farm for some time.”“Indeed, and does your wife know him?”“My wife!” exclaimed the farmer, wiping his forehead with his bandanna. “Well, sir, she does know him—knows him to be a deceptive, circumwenting, young scoundrel.”“I am glad you have called upon me,” observed the magistrate, “because I desire to know as much as possible about the prisoner. As far as I can see at present the charge is not substantiated, but it is not possible to say what evidence is forthcoming.”“He is a bad lot anyway,” returned the farmer.“Appearances are against him, I admit.”“Appearances be hanged! I tell ee that he’s a wretched impostor.”“May be so, Ashbrook. Possibly he is so.”“There is no possibility in the matter—he is. I tell ee, Mr. Kensett, that he is a false, deceitful fellow. I shouldn’t say this unless I had good reason for it. He’s a varmint.”The magistrate smiled.The farmer was so energetic and impressive that it would have been difficult for any one to have refrained from smiling.“You are right enough, I dare say,” observed the magistrate, “but assertions are one thing and evidence is another. If this young man is guilty we shall know how to deal with him.”“Oh, mek no doubt o’ that, not a morsel o’ doubt. It aint loikely that he will be able to throw dust in the eyes of an experienced and far-seeing gentleman loike yourself. I will be at the court to-morrow morning, and just tell what I know about him.”“I don’t know that there will be any occasion for that, Ashbrook,” observed the magistrate.“Oh, but it ’ud be just as well, your worship. I know summat about the young vagabond, and I be willing enough to do my best to send him to quod.”“Just so; you are actuated by the best motives without doubt, but at the same time we have to consider many things before rashly entering into matters which are after all but pendents on the main issue.”“I do not quite understand you,” said the farmer.“Possibly not; but we will consider this over. Take a glass of wine, Mr. Ashbrook; we do not often meet,” said the magistrate, passing the decanter to his agricultural companion.“Certainly, sir. Here’s your very good health, and I may say I am happy and proud to see you,” cried Ashbrook, raising the glass to his lips.“The feeling is reciprocal, I am sure,” returned the magistrate. “Your very good health, Mr. Ashbrook. By the way, you observed just now that you knew the prisoner. Will you be kind enough to tell me under what circumstances you made his acquaintance?”“Sartinly,” said the farmer, “I med his acquaintance by the merest chance.”He then proceeded to give his companion a succinct account of all those events which the reader is already acquainted with—the meeting of the young man at the “Old Carved Lion,” his taking him to his own house, and the base ingratitude of his guest.The magistrate was surprised at the narrative, as he well might be. It was a history he was quite unprepared for.“So you will see, sir,” observed the farmer, when he brought his narrative to a conclusion, “that it aint at all likely I bear him any good will; on the contrary I should loike te see him behind the bars of one of her Majesty’s prisons.”“Of course, that is but natural, since he served you so badly.”“An audacious, impudent, lying, circumwenting, young jackanapes,” exclaimed the farmer. “A wretched impostor, who passed himself off as a gentleman, and sent a challenge to me by a sham captain, who was no better than himself.”“It was a piece of impertinence, I admit.”“That beant the proper term; it was oudacious, beyond all bounds.”“It was so.”“I lose all patience when I think on it.”“No doubt. That is in no way surprising.”“I tell ee, Mr. Kensett, that he’s a viper—a serpent as would ha’ destroyed my happiness and peace of mind for ever had I ha’ given un the chance.”“His conduct was bad in every way.”“It was infamous. But I’ll be at the court in the morning, never fear.”“I do not think there will be any occasion for you to attend.”“You think not?”“Hardly so.”“But I caught the fellow and handed him over to Todd.”“Certainly so. He informed me had it not been for you, Ashbrook, the officer would have been very badly used indeed.”“I’m sure on it, sir; this young feller’s accomplice was a desperate ruffian—there aint no mistake about that. My belief is he would not care about committing murder.”“I dare say not. Todd said he was a desperate ruffian.”No.73.Illustration: HE GAVE THE ORDER TO FIRE.HE GAVE THE ORDER TO THE PLATOON TO FIRE, AND FELL INSTANTLY.“He was all that, sir.”“The case is a most remarkable one—remarkable and singular in many ways; but I think we shall not need your evidence upon the first examination.”“Not need it!” cried Ashbrook, in a tone of surprise.“Well, no, I fancy not. It will be my duty to remand the prisoner, and you can give your evidence at the second examination.”“Why not to-morrow? I took an active part in the scrimmage,” observed Ashbrook.“No doubt about that, but we shall have enough to do to hear the evidence connected with the charge.”“As you please, sir—you ought to know best; but I should have thought my evidence would have been needed.”“Most certainly it will. The timely assistance you have rendered redounds greatly to your credit, Ashbrook. Everybody will acknowledge that, but there are other considerations. The prisoner has made me acquainted with other facts which have greatly astonished me. Indeed, I may say, have caused, me much anxiety. It would surprise you, I dare say, to learn who he is.”“I know who he is, Mr. Kensett, a circumwenting, worthless young scoundrel—I know perfectly well who and what he is, sir. Don’t ee make any mistake about that.”“You know something of his history, but not all.”“Not all—eh? Well I ’spose not, but I know enough.”“I say not all advisedly, Ashbrook. You must not repeat what I am about to tell you.”“Anything told in confidence I am not likely to repeat.”“Very well. Perhaps you have heard of a lad who was many years ago placed in the care of the late Mr. Jamblin, your father-in-law?”“Well, what o’ that? Old Jamblin was as good a fellow as ever stepped into shoe leather, or crossed a furrowed field.”“Nobody will attempt to gainsay that. He was a most worthy man—but to my story. This young man who is charged with fraud—this fellow who calls himself Sutherland now, and also passed as a Mr. Fortescue when he was a guest at your house, is the farmer’s boy who, years and years ago, ran away from Stoke Ferry.”“Run away!” cried Ashbrook, in a state of bewilderment. “Look ’ee here, Muster Kensett, I dunno as I rightly understood ee.”“You will do so after a while. You know, I suppose, that the late Mr. Jamblin had placed under his care a lad who was said to be an orphan? The youngster’s name was Alfred Purvis, and from what I can gather he was a sore trouble to your father-in-law.”“Well, I have heard so,” ejaculated Ashbrook. “I do remember a lad of that name being at the farm, but he ran away years ago, and has never been heard of since.”“That’s right enough, Ashbrook; all traces of the scapegrace were lost. But, nevertheless, I have good reason for saying that the young man who was arrested to-day is none other than he.”“What! Alf Purvis? Oh, that be impossible. I wunno b’lieve it.”“I wish I could not believe, but that I find impossible.”“Never, Mr. Kensett—it beant loikely.”“It is so, Ashbrook. I am afraid it is true.”“Well, I am knocked silly if that be the case. Why, he aint a mo’sel loike the boy.”“He is altered in every way—that I admit; but he is Purvis, I tell you, nevertheless.”The farmer’s breath seemed to be taken away at this announcement.“You be mistaken, I’m thinkin’,” said he.“No, I am not—I am correct in my surmise.”“Well, ye ought to know a deal better than what I do, seeing as how you have had so much experience; but I’m floored, and that’s the honest truth, and completely by the heels! Can it be possible that this young man, who was a guest at my house and was so friendly and intimate with Patty, can be the boy who years and years ago was driven from Stoke Ferry by old Mr. Jamblin, with a hare tied round his neck? It appears to be perfectly incredible.”“It is a fact, Ashbrook; at least, such is my impression.”“Well, I be wonder-struck—that’s all I ha’ to say ’bout it, and as to Patty, she’d be regularly done over when she hears this piece of news.”“There won’t be any occasion for you to make her acquainted with it,” quietly observed the magistrate.“I dunno so much about that—ye see, Mr. Kensett, I ha’ no secrets from my wife, and I don’t b’lieve she has any secrets as she keeps from me. I’d better tell her all about this business, for she’s sartin to hear on it sooner or later.”“You are the best judge as to that, Ashbrook. Tell her if you think it advisable to do so.”“Oh, aye, I’ll tell her,” returned the farmer; “but you see, Mr. Kensett, after what you’ve bin a sayin’, I dunno as how I shall go to the court to-morrow. The lad was a bit hardly dealt by when at Stoke Ferry—so I’ve bin given to understand, and maybe it ’ud be just as well for me to keep away, and not mix myself up in the business any more than I can help. I’ll consult Patty. She’s got a lot more common sense than falls to the share o’ most wimmen. I’ll ask her what she thinks about it.”“Certainly, it would be your best course, and act in accordance with her wishes.”“Aye, may be it would. Well, I never! It’s altogether a most extraordinary affair—most extraordinary.”“Not more extraordinary than true, Ashbrook.”“No, sir, I aint a sayin’ as it be; but it gets over me, and no mistake.”After some further conversation, the worthy agriculturist bade the magistrate good-bye, and took his departure.Alf Purvis, whose rather chequered career we have already sketched up to the period of his arrest, was about as unprincipled a young scoundrel as it is well possible to conceive. The earlier years of his life were in a measure enshrouded in mystery. He was supposed to be the illegitimate offspring of some gentleman, but this was only surmise. When an infant he had been left on the doorstep of a house in the immediate neighbourhood of Saltwich. He was picked up by a farmer’s man and taken to the workhouse. His mother, who had abandoned him, was tracked by a village constable, arrested, and brought before Mr. Kensett.She told her tale to him, said that the father of the child was his (Mr. Kensett’s) son, who had gone to sea. The magistrate, who had every reason for believing that the story the woman told was a true one, connived at her escape, extracting from her before she left his presence a promise that she would never trouble him again. He gave her a sum of money and heard no more of her, had never seen her from that time up to the present hour. Such are the leading particulars connected with the life and parentage of the accomplished London thief.When the hour arrived for the prisoner’s examination Mr. Sutherland was brought into court by Todd, the detective. His genteel appearance, good looks, and winning manners made him more an object of pity than execration. The women who were present in the court were unanimous in their opinion that he was an innocent person, or, if not quite innocent that he had been the dupe of more designing persons, for it was not possible to believe that so genteel and well-conducted a young fellow could be a callous offender against the laws of his country.Mr. Todd and the other members of the police force were, however, of a different opinion. The London detective gave him a bad character, not that he had ever been in trouble before, but he was said to have been a suspected person for a considerable period while residing in the metropolis. It is needless to observe that they were not very far out in their reckoning.Mr. Todd when put in the box gave a full detail of the prisoner’s capture, and the attempted rescue of him by the Cracksman, who was a well-known thief. These circumstances were made manifest enough, and could not by any possibility be contravened. The fact of his having in his possession the full amount he had received for the cheque cashed at the Saltwich bank was also deposed to, and the bank clerk was also in attendance who declared that the cheque had been altered.This, however, could not be proved positively without the attendance of the drawer of the cheque, and he, it appeared, was at this time in Paris, and the gentleman engaged for the prosecution thereupon asked for a remand.At the advice of Mr. Kensett the prisoner was represented by a badgering lawyer, who availed himself of every quibble to set aside the evidence offered for the prosecution.He had not much difficulty in turning the tide in favour of his client, for, to speak the truth, the case for the prosecution was a regular bungle, and Mr. Sharpthorne, Sutherland’s legal adviser, damaged it materially.“I respectfully submit, sir,” said Sharpthorne, looking triumphantly round the court and addressing himself to the magistrate, “that there is in reality no kind of proof offered on behalf of the prosecution that this young man has committed any fraud whatever. A cheque has been presented by him and paid by one of the cashiers of the Saltwich Bank. I am instructed by my client to inform the court that he received the cheque in the ordinary course of business—that he was, in point of fact, a perfectly honest holder of the cheque in question, and he presented it in the full faith of its genuineness. I must say I think the bankers have acted in a most indiscreet and, I may observe, a very harsh way, towards a respectable and honestly-disposed young man.”“Respectable and honest—eh?” sneeringly observed the attorney for the prosecution.“Certainly,” replied Sharpthorne, thumping the table before him. “I say advisedly and emphatically, both respectable and honest. The inference is a rational and reasonable one. Every man is honest until he is found guilty.”“The prisoner made a determined attempt to escape. You seem to forget that,” observed Mr. Kensett, addressing: himself to the blatant lawyer.“Well, sir,” observed the latter, “I should be very sorry—indeed, it would be imprudent for me to contradict you; but permit me to observe that even this has not been clearly established. It is true a ruffian attacked Mr. Todd and endeavoured to overpower him—indeed, he partially succeeded in doing so; but it does not necessarily follow that this was done at the instigation of the prisoner. It is just possible the man in question was a perfect stranger to my client. I believe he was.”“Ah, Sharpthorne, that is going too far,” observed the opposing solicitor.“You may think so, if you please; but I do not think I am exceeding my duty in making such a suggestion. But it is hardly worth while discussing that question; even assuming such were the case, it does not prove anything after all. It does not incriminate this young man, against whom there is positively no proof of fraud or dishonesty.”“The circumstances surrounding the case are suspicious,” quietly observed the magistrate. “If proofs are wanting now, possibly they may be brought forward in the due course of time.”“But is this young man to be degraded in the eyes of the world by lying under the stigma of dishonesty merely because a country banker chooses to assume a position which is not supported by evidence? It is a most trumpery charge.”“I object to the word trumpery!” exclaimed the lawyer on the other side.“You may object as much as you please. Substitute contemptible in place of it if that pleases you better,” returned Sharpthorne.This last observation evoked a peal of laughter from those in the body of the court.“Order! silence!” cried the usher.“If there is any more of this unseemly merriment,” said the magistrate, “I will commit those persons who indulge in it.”This had the desired effect—the audience abstained from any further laughter.“I have to express my regret that an unguarded expression made by myself should have given rise to this breach of etiquette,” said Sharpthorne.“Let the subject drop, I pray,” observed Mr. Kensett.“By all means, sir. I am, I hope, the last man to court a legal wrangle. We have to deal with the evidence, and I submit that this is of a nature that, regarding it from a legal point of view, does not in any way bear against the prisoner, who, I maintain, is entitled to be discharged.”“I should not be justified in dismissing the case after the evidence offered,” said Mr. Kensett.“Evidence, sir,” cried Sharpthorne, “there is positively none.”“I am not accustomed to allow gentlemen to direct me in the course I am to pursue,” observed the magistrate. “I admit the evidence is very weak at present, but there is no telling what may be forthcoming, provided the legal advisers for the prosecution have time afforded them for that purpose; and at the same time, Mr. Sharpthorne, I should be sorry indeed to prejudice the case, or to press badly on the prisoner who to all appearances is a quiet gentlemanly young man. Still at the same time I have a duty to perform. If the prisoner is innocent I hope and trust it will be proved on the next examination. Certainly, as far as I can see at present, there is not a great deal against him. Certainly not enough to send the case for a jury to decide. I think, therefore, under all the circumstances, I should be justified in remanding the case to this day week, and in the meantime I will let the prisoner out upon his own recognisances.”“I hope you will require him to find good and substantial bail, sir,” said the solicitor for the prosecution.The magistrate hesitated, whereupon Mr. Sharpthorne came to the rescue.“The young man knows nobody in this neighbourhood, and it would be unjust to acceed to Hashby’s suggestion. I therefore beg of you to bind him over in his own recognisances.”“Yes, that, I think, will be all that the exigency of the case requires, said Kensett.” The case is adjourned to this day week, and in the meantime our friend Hashby will have ample time afforded him to obtain whatever evidence he can to complete his case.”“His own recognisances!” murmured the bank clerk. “What does that mean?”“Why, it means that his worship don’t think much of the evidence offered to-day,” whispered Sharpthorne. “And to say the truth, it would be strange if he did.”“We are going to fight it, Sharpthorne; and we are, I hope, going to pot our man,” said Hashby.“Are you?”“Well, yes, I think so.”“We shall see, my friend. Better luck next time, as the butcher said when the rope broke with which he had attempted to hang himself. You haven’t scored much to-day.”“That I admit, but it isn’t my fault. Was only instructed half an hour before entering the court.”“Oh, by the way, Mr. Hashby,” observed the magistrate, “you had better leave the cheque in my hands, and I shall then have time to make a careful examination of the same.”The cheque was handed to the magistrate, who looked at it for some little time.“I must confess, as far as I can see at present, it seems to be genuine enough. Do you happen to know whether this is the drawer’s signature or not?”“The bank clerks do not appear to have any doubt about that,” said Hashby. “But the writing in the body of the cheque and the figures have been altered.”“How could that have been done?”“Well, sir, it has been done on more than one occasion, for the purposes of fraud, and it is managed in this way: The original writing is taken out by chemicals, then the manipulator imitates the handwriting of the drawer, and places a much larger amount in than the cheque was originally drawn for.”“It is a very extraordinary proceeding. I do not remember, in the whole course of my experience, meeting with a similar case.”“I deny most positively that the cheque has been tampered with. If it has, it has not been done with my knowledge,” exclaimed the prisoner. “The charge is a false and malicious one.”“That is my opinion,” cried Sharpthorne, “and if this be the case the matter will not rest here. The bank directors have laid themselves open to an action for damages and false imprisonment. I say, again, it is not at all likely the matter will be allowed to be hushed up.”“Hushed up, Mr. Sharpthone! What can you be thinking of to make so unjust an observation?” cried the bank clerk. “Do you suppose that we have any vindictive feeling towards this young man?”“I purposely avoid replying to your query,” returned the lawyer. “I have my own opinion of the matter, which, for cogent reasons, I choose to keep to myself.”“But you have cast a slur upon the bank directors, and I say it is not just or proper for you to do so. We have good reasons for acting in the way we have.”“Oh, I dare say,” sneeringly observed Sharpthorne. “No doubt you think yourself on the safe side.”“Let there be no squabbling,” said the magistrate, interposing. “The bank think themselves justified in the course they have adopted, and it is but fair to assume that they have good reasons for their line of action. It is not at all likely that a respectable and old-established firm would be rash or indiscreet enough to institute these proceedings without due consideration.”“I should hope not,” returned Sharpthorne; “but at the same time, sir, we must all admit that people are sometimes mistaken, and I think it will be found that such is the case in this injudicious and uncalled-for prosecution.”“I really do not see that you are mending matters by casting aspersions upon a respectable body of gentlemen, who, from the position they hold in the commercial world, are incapable of acting in an improper or harsh manner.”“I have done, sir. We’ll say no more about the matter at present,” observed Sharpthorne, with a shrug, as he gathered up his papers and transferred the same into his official blue bag.The prisoner was bound over in his own recognisances to appear that day week, and there was an end of the case as far as the first hearing was concerned.Mr. Sutherland had had a narrow escape. He was by far too cunning and dexterous a thief to present himself on the following week.He contrived to become possessed of sufficient funds to take a trip, and repaired to the Continent, where he proposed remaining till the little affair of the Saltwich bank forgery had blown over.The bankers were very indignant when they found the bird had flown, and Mr. Todd was, of course, greatly mortified at the issue, but there was no help for it. The police had instructions to make every effort to trace the fugitive, but as too frequently happens in such cases their efforts proved ineffectual, and in the course of time the affair was forgotten, and “the storm in a teapot,” as Mr. Sharpthorne designated it, subsided.
“Now, sir, you can proceed, if you please,” said the magistrate, sternly. “I have consented to hear what you have to say in this matter, but it does not necessarily follow that I place any reliance upon this specious tale of yours.”
“Oh, dear me, no. Certainly not. You will, of course, take it for what it is worth. I am not the first man by a good many who has had the misfortune to be looked upon with doubt and mistrust.”
“You will be pleased to confine yourself to the facts, and not indulge in extraneous or impertinent observations,” cried the magistrate.
His companion bowed and said quietly—
“The facts are in themselves significant enough.”
“Are they?”
“Yes, I hope so. Let me see, where did I leave off? Oh, I know, at that part of the narrative where you parted with this unfortunate woman. Well, Mr. Kensett, she went her ways. She kept her promise; for from that day to the present moment you have not seen or heard anything of her. Is that so?”
“Yes, that is so.”
The magistrate began to feel a vague fear, and shuddered in spite of himself.
Mr. Sutherland continued—
“The child was taken to the union, where it remained for some three or four years; then it was taken charge of by Mr. Searle, your wife’s brother. I believe he elected to be its natural protector, and placed it in charge of an old woman, whose name I do not at the present moment remember, but she was, so I have been told, a most worthy person, and did her duty, was mindful of her young charge. Any way the youngster thrived, and when old enough Mr. Searle apprenticed him to the late Mr. Jamblin, owner and occupier of Stoke Ferry Farm. The farmer had instructions to bring the lad up us an agriculturist. He obeyed the instructions given him by Mr. Searle. By injudicious punishments and injudicious pardons he taught this boy, whose father was dead, whose mother was a fugitive, and whose grandparents dared not acknowledge him, to be mischievous, discontented, and deceitful. Finally, he ran away from his foster father, and a reward was offered for his apprehension, but all efforts to regain this treasure proved ineffectual, and his relatives resigned themselves with Christian resignation to his loss.”
Mr. Kensett was perfectly bewildered. He stretched his hand out mechanically towards the bell.
Sutherland only smiled sardonically.
“On reaching London,” said he, “after leaving Stoke Ferry Farm, the boy sold birds’ nests in the street, till he was adopted by a fence or receiver of stolen goods, who instructed him in the way of cheating, in which he soon became a proficient. He then passed into the hands of one of the most notorious thieves in the metropolis.”
“Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed the magistrate, with a deep-drawn sigh. “Can this be possible?”
Sutherland took no notice of this last observation, but went on.
“In a twelvemonth,” he observed, “like Raphael and other great artists the boy had surpassed not only the expectations, but also thechefs d’œuvreof his master. At nineteen he became notorious—at twenty-one he became celebrated. Now he is a Claude Duval in politeness, a Lovelace in intrigue, a Richard Turpin on the highway, and will perhaps prove a Jack Sheppard among the prison locks.”
Mr. Kensett began to have a dim perception of the terrible secret in store for him.
“This man,” continued Sutherland, “this glorious hero to whom the London detectives, if they knew heathen mythology, would attribute the ring of Gyges, which rendered its possessor invisible, is myself, I, Alfred Purvis,aliasSutherland,aliasFortescue, who have the honour of standing before you now.”
There was a pause. The magistrate was deeply moved.
Presently he said, in a tone of anguish—
“Do you mean to say, young man, that you are Alfred Purvis, who ran away from Stoke Ferry Farm?”
“Most certainly I am,” answered the prisoner.
“It appears to me to be altogether incredible.”
“That is likely enough, sir, but it is a fact. You see, sir,” he said, calmly, “how intricate and mysterious are the ways of Providence. By a miracle I was saved from death in my infancy, and why? Most probably you have committed some crime, which has never been discovered. It is I who have been selected as an instrument of retribution. I own I would have preferred that I had been some one else, but——”
“Silence, sir, this insolence is altogether intolerable! Me commit a crime! Are you mad to make such an assertion?”
“Pardon me,” said Sutherland. “I did not make the assertion. I only threw it out as a suggestion, as a possibility, but no doubt the hypothesis is incorrect. It does not, however, in any way alter the leading facts connected with the history of your humble servant. You will find it difficult to set aside the relationship which exists between us.”
Mr. Kensett rose from his seat, and paced the room with rapid strides.
“It is enough,” he presently said. “There is no further need for threats or taunts if what you have been saying is true.”
“It is true—every word of it.”
“Well, if such be the case, you are the son of my son—you have my blood in your veins—you are a felon.”
“That has yet to be proved.”
“I hope it never will be, for both our sakes.”
“I hope not.”
“Ah, but this is indeed terrible; I know not how to act.”
“Let me go!”
“I cannot do that. Do you think you will be able to prove your innocence when the magisterial inquiry takes place?”
“You ask me a plain question?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And require a plain answer?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, then, Mr. Kensett, I don’t think I shall be able to prove my innocence, and therefore it is advisable that you aid me to escape.”
“I will save you if possible,” said the magistate, in a low voice. “But how is it to be effected? That’s the question.”
“How!” cried Sutherland. “It is easy enough, I fancy.”
“Not without compromising myself; I am quite powerless in this case, and yet——”
“You have no wish to see your grandson cast into a cell?”
The magistrate shuddered.
“Suppose you let me overpower you—tie you to a chair, and then get clear off.”
“Impossible!”
“Ah, it’s possible enough if you will only oblige me by taking off these handcuffs.”
“I dare not do it. No, we will devise some better scheme.”
“I am at your mercy—it is not for me to dictate. I leave the affair in your hands.”
Mr. Kensett considered for some little time and then said—
“I do not approve of your scheme—it is not practicable; but I shall save you, Alfred Purvis—save you for my poor dear boy’s sake. Listen—you will have to submit to a short term of imprisonment—you must be locked up for the night. In the morning you will be brought before the police-court, and evidence will be offered to justify me in remanding the case—this I shall do.”
“And what then?”
“Apply for bail, which I will grant. If the case does not assume a very serious aspect, possibly I may feel justified in letting you out on your own recogniances. The rest is an easy matter. Go abroad; get out of the way till the offence is blown over. You can do this, I suppose.”
“I shall not trouble myself to come up for a second hearing—you may depend upon that,” said Sutherland, with a mocking laugh.
“And if I do this you will promise to lead a new life, and strive as best you can to make atonement for your past errors. Will you promise?”
“Oh! certainly. I pass my word—that is sufficient,” replied the prisoner carelessly.
“You are not sincere, and do not mean what you say.”
“I declare most positively I do, sir,” was the prompt reply.
“I wish I could believe you. Oh! but this is a terrible trial to me. Even now I find it difficult to believe you are the boy who, years ago, worked at Stoke Ferry Farm.”
I will give you proofs, sir—incontrovertible proofs, if you need them, before many days are over our heads.”
“Peace! silence! Let it pass on. I believe your story, and so that’s enough. I see the likeness to my dead son when I gaze on your features. Yes, I believe all you have said. I took no notice of you when a child; now I would risk anything to save you from ignominy and disgrace. Leave it to me.”
The magistrate went to the door, and called out in a loud tone for Mr. Todd, who at once made his appearance in answer to the summons.
“The prisoner is persistent in his declaration of innocence, Mr. Todd,” said the magistrate, in his habitual official tone of voice.
“Is he, sir?” said the officer. “We know what that is worth.”
“Yes—oh, dear, yes—of course, Todd. Still, I do hope the young man, who is evidently well educated, may not be so bad as we think. However, you must take charge of him, and bring what witnesses you have to the court to-morrow morning. By the way, there is, I think, hardly any necessity now for the handcuffs. They can be removed.”
“Ah, certainly, your worship, if you wish it.”
Mr. Todd, with marvellous dexterity, removed the objectionable ruffles from the wrists of Mr. Sutherland, who was deeply sensible of this little favour. He was then marched off to gaol.
When he and his captor had gone, the magistrate fell into a chair, covered his face with his hands and sobbed like a child.
He had hardly recovered himself from his first paroxysm of grief when the voice of Ashbrook was heard in the outer hall, inquiring of the servant for Mr. Kensett.
The magistrate pulled himself together as best he could, and assumed an air of official sternness.
“Oh, your sarvint, sir,” cried Ashbrook, entering the parlour. “I be a little late—leastways later than I had intended. Beg pardon, squire, but I hope I aint intruding.”
“Not at all, my friend, so pray be seated,” exclaimed Kensett. “I am glad to see you.”
“Thanks. I ought to ha’ been a little earlier, but it can’t be helped, I’ve been detained. I wanted to say summut about Mr. Todd. He’s done his duty, and I am glad I coom up just in time to render him timely service. However, what I wanted to make known to your worship is this, Mr. Todd did his duty and fought like a brick.”
“Ah, I have no doubt. Todd is a most efficient officer.”
“He brought in the prisoner, I s’pose,” said Ashbrook.
“Yes, the young rascal is locked up, and will be brought before me to-morrow morning for examination.”
“Ah, just so. Well, Mr. Kensett, I know summat of the varmint; he be a bad lot.”
“You know him, Ashbrook—do you?”
“Yes, sir; he passed himself off as a gentleman, and was my guest at Stoke Ferry Farm for some time.”
“Indeed, and does your wife know him?”
“My wife!” exclaimed the farmer, wiping his forehead with his bandanna. “Well, sir, she does know him—knows him to be a deceptive, circumwenting, young scoundrel.”
“I am glad you have called upon me,” observed the magistrate, “because I desire to know as much as possible about the prisoner. As far as I can see at present the charge is not substantiated, but it is not possible to say what evidence is forthcoming.”
“He is a bad lot anyway,” returned the farmer.
“Appearances are against him, I admit.”
“Appearances be hanged! I tell ee that he’s a wretched impostor.”
“May be so, Ashbrook. Possibly he is so.”
“There is no possibility in the matter—he is. I tell ee, Mr. Kensett, that he is a false, deceitful fellow. I shouldn’t say this unless I had good reason for it. He’s a varmint.”
The magistrate smiled.
The farmer was so energetic and impressive that it would have been difficult for any one to have refrained from smiling.
“You are right enough, I dare say,” observed the magistrate, “but assertions are one thing and evidence is another. If this young man is guilty we shall know how to deal with him.”
“Oh, mek no doubt o’ that, not a morsel o’ doubt. It aint loikely that he will be able to throw dust in the eyes of an experienced and far-seeing gentleman loike yourself. I will be at the court to-morrow morning, and just tell what I know about him.”
“I don’t know that there will be any occasion for that, Ashbrook,” observed the magistrate.
“Oh, but it ’ud be just as well, your worship. I know summat about the young vagabond, and I be willing enough to do my best to send him to quod.”
“Just so; you are actuated by the best motives without doubt, but at the same time we have to consider many things before rashly entering into matters which are after all but pendents on the main issue.”
“I do not quite understand you,” said the farmer.
“Possibly not; but we will consider this over. Take a glass of wine, Mr. Ashbrook; we do not often meet,” said the magistrate, passing the decanter to his agricultural companion.
“Certainly, sir. Here’s your very good health, and I may say I am happy and proud to see you,” cried Ashbrook, raising the glass to his lips.
“The feeling is reciprocal, I am sure,” returned the magistrate. “Your very good health, Mr. Ashbrook. By the way, you observed just now that you knew the prisoner. Will you be kind enough to tell me under what circumstances you made his acquaintance?”
“Sartinly,” said the farmer, “I med his acquaintance by the merest chance.”
He then proceeded to give his companion a succinct account of all those events which the reader is already acquainted with—the meeting of the young man at the “Old Carved Lion,” his taking him to his own house, and the base ingratitude of his guest.
The magistrate was surprised at the narrative, as he well might be. It was a history he was quite unprepared for.
“So you will see, sir,” observed the farmer, when he brought his narrative to a conclusion, “that it aint at all likely I bear him any good will; on the contrary I should loike te see him behind the bars of one of her Majesty’s prisons.”
“Of course, that is but natural, since he served you so badly.”
“An audacious, impudent, lying, circumwenting, young jackanapes,” exclaimed the farmer. “A wretched impostor, who passed himself off as a gentleman, and sent a challenge to me by a sham captain, who was no better than himself.”
“It was a piece of impertinence, I admit.”
“That beant the proper term; it was oudacious, beyond all bounds.”
“It was so.”
“I lose all patience when I think on it.”
“No doubt. That is in no way surprising.”
“I tell ee, Mr. Kensett, that he’s a viper—a serpent as would ha’ destroyed my happiness and peace of mind for ever had I ha’ given un the chance.”
“His conduct was bad in every way.”
“It was infamous. But I’ll be at the court in the morning, never fear.”
“I do not think there will be any occasion for you to attend.”
“You think not?”
“Hardly so.”
“But I caught the fellow and handed him over to Todd.”
“Certainly so. He informed me had it not been for you, Ashbrook, the officer would have been very badly used indeed.”
“I’m sure on it, sir; this young feller’s accomplice was a desperate ruffian—there aint no mistake about that. My belief is he would not care about committing murder.”
“I dare say not. Todd said he was a desperate ruffian.”
No.73.
Illustration: HE GAVE THE ORDER TO FIRE.HE GAVE THE ORDER TO THE PLATOON TO FIRE, AND FELL INSTANTLY.
HE GAVE THE ORDER TO THE PLATOON TO FIRE, AND FELL INSTANTLY.
“He was all that, sir.”
“The case is a most remarkable one—remarkable and singular in many ways; but I think we shall not need your evidence upon the first examination.”
“Not need it!” cried Ashbrook, in a tone of surprise.
“Well, no, I fancy not. It will be my duty to remand the prisoner, and you can give your evidence at the second examination.”
“Why not to-morrow? I took an active part in the scrimmage,” observed Ashbrook.
“No doubt about that, but we shall have enough to do to hear the evidence connected with the charge.”
“As you please, sir—you ought to know best; but I should have thought my evidence would have been needed.”
“Most certainly it will. The timely assistance you have rendered redounds greatly to your credit, Ashbrook. Everybody will acknowledge that, but there are other considerations. The prisoner has made me acquainted with other facts which have greatly astonished me. Indeed, I may say, have caused, me much anxiety. It would surprise you, I dare say, to learn who he is.”
“I know who he is, Mr. Kensett, a circumwenting, worthless young scoundrel—I know perfectly well who and what he is, sir. Don’t ee make any mistake about that.”
“You know something of his history, but not all.”
“Not all—eh? Well I ’spose not, but I know enough.”
“I say not all advisedly, Ashbrook. You must not repeat what I am about to tell you.”
“Anything told in confidence I am not likely to repeat.”
“Very well. Perhaps you have heard of a lad who was many years ago placed in the care of the late Mr. Jamblin, your father-in-law?”
“Well, what o’ that? Old Jamblin was as good a fellow as ever stepped into shoe leather, or crossed a furrowed field.”
“Nobody will attempt to gainsay that. He was a most worthy man—but to my story. This young man who is charged with fraud—this fellow who calls himself Sutherland now, and also passed as a Mr. Fortescue when he was a guest at your house, is the farmer’s boy who, years and years ago, ran away from Stoke Ferry.”
“Run away!” cried Ashbrook, in a state of bewilderment. “Look ’ee here, Muster Kensett, I dunno as I rightly understood ee.”
“You will do so after a while. You know, I suppose, that the late Mr. Jamblin had placed under his care a lad who was said to be an orphan? The youngster’s name was Alfred Purvis, and from what I can gather he was a sore trouble to your father-in-law.”
“Well, I have heard so,” ejaculated Ashbrook. “I do remember a lad of that name being at the farm, but he ran away years ago, and has never been heard of since.”
“That’s right enough, Ashbrook; all traces of the scapegrace were lost. But, nevertheless, I have good reason for saying that the young man who was arrested to-day is none other than he.”
“What! Alf Purvis? Oh, that be impossible. I wunno b’lieve it.”
“I wish I could not believe, but that I find impossible.”
“Never, Mr. Kensett—it beant loikely.”
“It is so, Ashbrook. I am afraid it is true.”
“Well, I am knocked silly if that be the case. Why, he aint a mo’sel loike the boy.”
“He is altered in every way—that I admit; but he is Purvis, I tell you, nevertheless.”
The farmer’s breath seemed to be taken away at this announcement.
“You be mistaken, I’m thinkin’,” said he.
“No, I am not—I am correct in my surmise.”
“Well, ye ought to know a deal better than what I do, seeing as how you have had so much experience; but I’m floored, and that’s the honest truth, and completely by the heels! Can it be possible that this young man, who was a guest at my house and was so friendly and intimate with Patty, can be the boy who years and years ago was driven from Stoke Ferry by old Mr. Jamblin, with a hare tied round his neck? It appears to be perfectly incredible.”
“It is a fact, Ashbrook; at least, such is my impression.”
“Well, I be wonder-struck—that’s all I ha’ to say ’bout it, and as to Patty, she’d be regularly done over when she hears this piece of news.”
“There won’t be any occasion for you to make her acquainted with it,” quietly observed the magistrate.
“I dunno so much about that—ye see, Mr. Kensett, I ha’ no secrets from my wife, and I don’t b’lieve she has any secrets as she keeps from me. I’d better tell her all about this business, for she’s sartin to hear on it sooner or later.”
“You are the best judge as to that, Ashbrook. Tell her if you think it advisable to do so.”
“Oh, aye, I’ll tell her,” returned the farmer; “but you see, Mr. Kensett, after what you’ve bin a sayin’, I dunno as how I shall go to the court to-morrow. The lad was a bit hardly dealt by when at Stoke Ferry—so I’ve bin given to understand, and maybe it ’ud be just as well for me to keep away, and not mix myself up in the business any more than I can help. I’ll consult Patty. She’s got a lot more common sense than falls to the share o’ most wimmen. I’ll ask her what she thinks about it.”
“Certainly, it would be your best course, and act in accordance with her wishes.”
“Aye, may be it would. Well, I never! It’s altogether a most extraordinary affair—most extraordinary.”
“Not more extraordinary than true, Ashbrook.”
“No, sir, I aint a sayin’ as it be; but it gets over me, and no mistake.”
After some further conversation, the worthy agriculturist bade the magistrate good-bye, and took his departure.
Alf Purvis, whose rather chequered career we have already sketched up to the period of his arrest, was about as unprincipled a young scoundrel as it is well possible to conceive. The earlier years of his life were in a measure enshrouded in mystery. He was supposed to be the illegitimate offspring of some gentleman, but this was only surmise. When an infant he had been left on the doorstep of a house in the immediate neighbourhood of Saltwich. He was picked up by a farmer’s man and taken to the workhouse. His mother, who had abandoned him, was tracked by a village constable, arrested, and brought before Mr. Kensett.
She told her tale to him, said that the father of the child was his (Mr. Kensett’s) son, who had gone to sea. The magistrate, who had every reason for believing that the story the woman told was a true one, connived at her escape, extracting from her before she left his presence a promise that she would never trouble him again. He gave her a sum of money and heard no more of her, had never seen her from that time up to the present hour. Such are the leading particulars connected with the life and parentage of the accomplished London thief.
When the hour arrived for the prisoner’s examination Mr. Sutherland was brought into court by Todd, the detective. His genteel appearance, good looks, and winning manners made him more an object of pity than execration. The women who were present in the court were unanimous in their opinion that he was an innocent person, or, if not quite innocent that he had been the dupe of more designing persons, for it was not possible to believe that so genteel and well-conducted a young fellow could be a callous offender against the laws of his country.
Mr. Todd and the other members of the police force were, however, of a different opinion. The London detective gave him a bad character, not that he had ever been in trouble before, but he was said to have been a suspected person for a considerable period while residing in the metropolis. It is needless to observe that they were not very far out in their reckoning.
Mr. Todd when put in the box gave a full detail of the prisoner’s capture, and the attempted rescue of him by the Cracksman, who was a well-known thief. These circumstances were made manifest enough, and could not by any possibility be contravened. The fact of his having in his possession the full amount he had received for the cheque cashed at the Saltwich bank was also deposed to, and the bank clerk was also in attendance who declared that the cheque had been altered.
This, however, could not be proved positively without the attendance of the drawer of the cheque, and he, it appeared, was at this time in Paris, and the gentleman engaged for the prosecution thereupon asked for a remand.
At the advice of Mr. Kensett the prisoner was represented by a badgering lawyer, who availed himself of every quibble to set aside the evidence offered for the prosecution.
He had not much difficulty in turning the tide in favour of his client, for, to speak the truth, the case for the prosecution was a regular bungle, and Mr. Sharpthorne, Sutherland’s legal adviser, damaged it materially.
“I respectfully submit, sir,” said Sharpthorne, looking triumphantly round the court and addressing himself to the magistrate, “that there is in reality no kind of proof offered on behalf of the prosecution that this young man has committed any fraud whatever. A cheque has been presented by him and paid by one of the cashiers of the Saltwich Bank. I am instructed by my client to inform the court that he received the cheque in the ordinary course of business—that he was, in point of fact, a perfectly honest holder of the cheque in question, and he presented it in the full faith of its genuineness. I must say I think the bankers have acted in a most indiscreet and, I may observe, a very harsh way, towards a respectable and honestly-disposed young man.”
“Respectable and honest—eh?” sneeringly observed the attorney for the prosecution.
“Certainly,” replied Sharpthorne, thumping the table before him. “I say advisedly and emphatically, both respectable and honest. The inference is a rational and reasonable one. Every man is honest until he is found guilty.”
“The prisoner made a determined attempt to escape. You seem to forget that,” observed Mr. Kensett, addressing: himself to the blatant lawyer.
“Well, sir,” observed the latter, “I should be very sorry—indeed, it would be imprudent for me to contradict you; but permit me to observe that even this has not been clearly established. It is true a ruffian attacked Mr. Todd and endeavoured to overpower him—indeed, he partially succeeded in doing so; but it does not necessarily follow that this was done at the instigation of the prisoner. It is just possible the man in question was a perfect stranger to my client. I believe he was.”
“Ah, Sharpthorne, that is going too far,” observed the opposing solicitor.
“You may think so, if you please; but I do not think I am exceeding my duty in making such a suggestion. But it is hardly worth while discussing that question; even assuming such were the case, it does not prove anything after all. It does not incriminate this young man, against whom there is positively no proof of fraud or dishonesty.”
“The circumstances surrounding the case are suspicious,” quietly observed the magistrate. “If proofs are wanting now, possibly they may be brought forward in the due course of time.”
“But is this young man to be degraded in the eyes of the world by lying under the stigma of dishonesty merely because a country banker chooses to assume a position which is not supported by evidence? It is a most trumpery charge.”
“I object to the word trumpery!” exclaimed the lawyer on the other side.
“You may object as much as you please. Substitute contemptible in place of it if that pleases you better,” returned Sharpthorne.
This last observation evoked a peal of laughter from those in the body of the court.
“Order! silence!” cried the usher.
“If there is any more of this unseemly merriment,” said the magistrate, “I will commit those persons who indulge in it.”
This had the desired effect—the audience abstained from any further laughter.
“I have to express my regret that an unguarded expression made by myself should have given rise to this breach of etiquette,” said Sharpthorne.
“Let the subject drop, I pray,” observed Mr. Kensett.
“By all means, sir. I am, I hope, the last man to court a legal wrangle. We have to deal with the evidence, and I submit that this is of a nature that, regarding it from a legal point of view, does not in any way bear against the prisoner, who, I maintain, is entitled to be discharged.”
“I should not be justified in dismissing the case after the evidence offered,” said Mr. Kensett.
“Evidence, sir,” cried Sharpthorne, “there is positively none.”
“I am not accustomed to allow gentlemen to direct me in the course I am to pursue,” observed the magistrate. “I admit the evidence is very weak at present, but there is no telling what may be forthcoming, provided the legal advisers for the prosecution have time afforded them for that purpose; and at the same time, Mr. Sharpthorne, I should be sorry indeed to prejudice the case, or to press badly on the prisoner who to all appearances is a quiet gentlemanly young man. Still at the same time I have a duty to perform. If the prisoner is innocent I hope and trust it will be proved on the next examination. Certainly, as far as I can see at present, there is not a great deal against him. Certainly not enough to send the case for a jury to decide. I think, therefore, under all the circumstances, I should be justified in remanding the case to this day week, and in the meantime I will let the prisoner out upon his own recognisances.”
“I hope you will require him to find good and substantial bail, sir,” said the solicitor for the prosecution.
The magistrate hesitated, whereupon Mr. Sharpthorne came to the rescue.
“The young man knows nobody in this neighbourhood, and it would be unjust to acceed to Hashby’s suggestion. I therefore beg of you to bind him over in his own recognisances.”
“Yes, that, I think, will be all that the exigency of the case requires, said Kensett.” The case is adjourned to this day week, and in the meantime our friend Hashby will have ample time afforded him to obtain whatever evidence he can to complete his case.”
“His own recognisances!” murmured the bank clerk. “What does that mean?”
“Why, it means that his worship don’t think much of the evidence offered to-day,” whispered Sharpthorne. “And to say the truth, it would be strange if he did.”
“We are going to fight it, Sharpthorne; and we are, I hope, going to pot our man,” said Hashby.
“Are you?”
“Well, yes, I think so.”
“We shall see, my friend. Better luck next time, as the butcher said when the rope broke with which he had attempted to hang himself. You haven’t scored much to-day.”
“That I admit, but it isn’t my fault. Was only instructed half an hour before entering the court.”
“Oh, by the way, Mr. Hashby,” observed the magistrate, “you had better leave the cheque in my hands, and I shall then have time to make a careful examination of the same.”
The cheque was handed to the magistrate, who looked at it for some little time.
“I must confess, as far as I can see at present, it seems to be genuine enough. Do you happen to know whether this is the drawer’s signature or not?”
“The bank clerks do not appear to have any doubt about that,” said Hashby. “But the writing in the body of the cheque and the figures have been altered.”
“How could that have been done?”
“Well, sir, it has been done on more than one occasion, for the purposes of fraud, and it is managed in this way: The original writing is taken out by chemicals, then the manipulator imitates the handwriting of the drawer, and places a much larger amount in than the cheque was originally drawn for.”
“It is a very extraordinary proceeding. I do not remember, in the whole course of my experience, meeting with a similar case.”
“I deny most positively that the cheque has been tampered with. If it has, it has not been done with my knowledge,” exclaimed the prisoner. “The charge is a false and malicious one.”
“That is my opinion,” cried Sharpthorne, “and if this be the case the matter will not rest here. The bank directors have laid themselves open to an action for damages and false imprisonment. I say, again, it is not at all likely the matter will be allowed to be hushed up.”
“Hushed up, Mr. Sharpthone! What can you be thinking of to make so unjust an observation?” cried the bank clerk. “Do you suppose that we have any vindictive feeling towards this young man?”
“I purposely avoid replying to your query,” returned the lawyer. “I have my own opinion of the matter, which, for cogent reasons, I choose to keep to myself.”
“But you have cast a slur upon the bank directors, and I say it is not just or proper for you to do so. We have good reasons for acting in the way we have.”
“Oh, I dare say,” sneeringly observed Sharpthorne. “No doubt you think yourself on the safe side.”
“Let there be no squabbling,” said the magistrate, interposing. “The bank think themselves justified in the course they have adopted, and it is but fair to assume that they have good reasons for their line of action. It is not at all likely that a respectable and old-established firm would be rash or indiscreet enough to institute these proceedings without due consideration.”
“I should hope not,” returned Sharpthorne; “but at the same time, sir, we must all admit that people are sometimes mistaken, and I think it will be found that such is the case in this injudicious and uncalled-for prosecution.”
“I really do not see that you are mending matters by casting aspersions upon a respectable body of gentlemen, who, from the position they hold in the commercial world, are incapable of acting in an improper or harsh manner.”
“I have done, sir. We’ll say no more about the matter at present,” observed Sharpthorne, with a shrug, as he gathered up his papers and transferred the same into his official blue bag.
The prisoner was bound over in his own recognisances to appear that day week, and there was an end of the case as far as the first hearing was concerned.
Mr. Sutherland had had a narrow escape. He was by far too cunning and dexterous a thief to present himself on the following week.
He contrived to become possessed of sufficient funds to take a trip, and repaired to the Continent, where he proposed remaining till the little affair of the Saltwich bank forgery had blown over.
The bankers were very indignant when they found the bird had flown, and Mr. Todd was, of course, greatly mortified at the issue, but there was no help for it. The police had instructions to make every effort to trace the fugitive, but as too frequently happens in such cases their efforts proved ineffectual, and in the course of time the affair was forgotten, and “the storm in a teapot,” as Mr. Sharpthorne designated it, subsided.