CHAPTERLXVI.THE COMPANY AT THE “SHOULDER OF MUTTON” INN.As we have already intimated it was market day, and as a natural consequence the court, the streets, and the public-houses were crowded to overflowing. The chief topic of conversation was, as a matter of course, the great murder case.In close proximity to the court-house stood a well-known inn, bearing the sign of the “Shoulder of Mutton,” and to this establishment Mr. Slapperton bent his steps. He was a man who courted publicity, and, if it was attainable, popularity also. He was a great talker, an adept at laying down the law, and he felt that he cut what he called a respectable figure in the court, and refreshment after his arduous duties was absolutely requisite; besides, he had one or two clients to meet at the “Shoulder of Mutton.”Although his conduct had been very reprehensible and pugnacious while in court, there were many who admired what they were pleased to term his “pluck,” and upon entering the public room several of its inmates rose from their seats and shook him warmly by the hand.“So, Measter Slapperton,” cried a broad-shouldered grazier, “you warn’t a goin’ to let the big wigs ha’ it all their own way.”“There are two sides to an argument, my friend,” returned the lawyer.“An yourn be the roight side, I s’pose,” cried a voice from the further end of the room.“Well, I hope so. That remains to be proved,” answered Slapperton, making the best of his way towards an ante-room, in which the dinner he had ordered was about to be served. Here two of his clients awaited him.After he had received their instructions, and devoured his substantial repast, he returned to the public room, which was filled with well-to-do agriculturists.Mr. Slapperton seated himself, sipped his port wine, and lighted his cigar. He felt that he was the “observed of all observers,” and this flattered the legal gentleman’s vanity.There was a sort of running fire of observations on the all-absorbing topic.One farmer, more pertinacious than the rest, turned towards the attorney, and said—“An’ do ye think as how they’ll bring it hoame to the murdering scoundrel, zur.”“I don’t give an opinion without the usual fee,” observed Slapperton.This retort was greeted with loud and continuous guffaws.“You’ve got ee change, old man,” said one.“It aint no yoose trying it on wi’ a lawyer,” cried another.“Oh, there’s no secret about the matter, gentlemen,” said Slapperton. “It is simply a question of identity. If the witnesses are mistaken, which I affirm they are, it would be wrong indeed to hang a man upon their testimony. So many questions arise in cases of this sort. Fatness and thinness are great aids to recognition, yet they are temporary, dependent sometimes on mere accidents of health. We have all of us met friends whom we have not seen, say, for three years, who have grown wider if not wiser in the interval, and whom we should not, without speech, have recognised.”“That be true enough,” said one of the company. “I ha’ had the thing occur to me.”“So have I,” said the lawyer, who was on his favourite hobby. “I can say so positively.”“You’re not agoin’ to mek me b’lieve that ee be innocent, identity or no identity,” cried Brickett, who was one of the company.“Oh, it’s you, eh?” said the lawyer, looking curiously at the speaker. “I shall not endeavour to do so. You heard what I said about prejudice?”“Yes, I did, and it beant true. There be no prejudice in the matter. I could have sed more if I’d bin amind.”“Ah, I dare say; but now, with respect to identity, I think of the excessive difficulty with which the memory retains a face. Portrait painters of half a century’s standing will tell you that they hardly retain the impression of a sitter five minutes, though they have been studying him keenly, that their own first touches from him as he sits are invaluable helps; that they would all, if it were convenient for art reasons, like to keep a photograph in full view for their work when the original is away. We think we remember, but in five minutes we forget, the half of a friend’s face nearly as perfectly as we forget the whole of our own. Clearly if identification were as easy as we are apt to believe, we should not so forget faces. And their expression? Doubtless, expression being, so to speak, an intellectual rather than a physical fact, stirring and rousing the intellect of the observer, his secret and almost instinctive likes and dislikes, remains longer fixed in the mind than mere feature. The witness who arrested Judge Jeffries might have forgotten his face, did forget it, in fact, for Jeffries when seized had only changed his wig, but he could not forget the ferocious glare of those insufferable eyes. But expression changes quickly, may change permanently. We all say every now and then, ‘His face is quite changed,’ while nothing is changed except, perhaps, the expression and the colour. Madness, extreme anger, drink, will all change a well-known face till it is almost irrecognisable.”“That may be all true,” said one of the company, “but somehow or another I do not think there’s much mistake ’bout that chap—he did the murder right enough.”“Aye, an’ sure he did,” cried Brickett, “as sartain as I’m a speakin’ now—the black-hearted villain. It aint a morsel o’ good for any one for to be trying to argue us out o’ our seven senses. He be the man and none other.”“Yes, that’s your opinion,” said Slapperton, “but it is not right and proper to hang a man upon mere opinion or hearsay.”“Certainly not,” said an elderly gentleman, who was a stranger to them all. “It is requisite to have the clearest and most unanswerable evidence when a man is put upon his trial for a capital offence. I’ve seen a good deal in my time, have been to most parts of the world, and in early life I was concerned in a trial—was one of the jury in fact—and but for me the man would have been hanged.”“Noe—noe,” cried several, with wondering looks.“All juries do not always agree,” said Slapperton; “but perhaps our friend will give us the benefit of his experience.”“Aye, do, sur. Let’s hear all about it,” cried several.“Speaking of a jury’s disagreeing,” said the old gentleman, “I myself was once the cause of such an occurrence, and I can’t say that I ever regretted it since it saved not only the life of the prisoner, whom I believed to be an innocent man, but my own life.”“Why, how was that?” inquired several.“It is really quite a romance in its way,” he replied, “and if you care to listen, I’ll go through it once more.“It happened many years ago when I was in the United States. Very shortly after I came of age I was summoned on a jury. As it was my first experience I did not attempt to escape serving, as older men are apt to do.“The only important case that came before us was the trial of a young man for the murder of his own father.“I won’t go into the particulars any more than is necessary for the story.“The crime was a most horrible and unnatural one, and to look at the frank, boyish face, and believe him capable of it, seemed impossible.“The evidence was entirely circumstantial, yet gradually as its terrible weight accumulated, an abundant motive was found in the son’s desire to inherit at once the father’s immense wealth, as it was shown they had recently quarrelled, that hot words had been given and returned, that the young man had publicly threatened his father’s life.“One by one the jurymen by my side lost faith in the prisoner, and finally when it was clearly proved that he was within five rods of the murdered man, almost after the fatal shot was heard, that he had an empty pistol in his hand, that the ball taken from the wound evidently belonged to the pistol, and that he acted most strangely and unlike an innocent man when found at this time.“There was only one man on the jury who had not already made up his mind for the terrible verdict—guilty. That man was myself.“Somehow or other I could not believe the man before me was guilty of the crime charged.“At the last moment after the judge had charged the jury the prisoner started up and asked if he might say a word for himself.“Upon permission being given he spoke in a manly voice as follows:—“‘Gentlemen of the jury, his lordship has just charged you to find a verdict entirely upon the evidence. If you do, you will convict me, and add one more to the long list of unfortunate one’s who have been victims of circumstantial evidence.“‘But I charge you here, in the presence of God and man, to find a verdict according to your own belief, and may some one among you believe me at this moment when I say, as God hears me, I am an innocent man.“‘You will say I acted wrongly, gentlemen—I grant it myself, if you look at the mere law of the question.’“It was an unusual speech to make at such a time—one, perhaps, which should not have been permitted. It made quite a sensation in the court, and as the prisoner sat down his fearless eye caught mine for an instant, and I felt, and he felt, that I was the man of whom he spoke, for at that moment with a certainty that amounted to positive conviction Iknewthat he was innocent.“The other eleven men came to a decision almost instantly after leaving the box. They said the prisoner was undoubtedly guilty, and I, for awhile, said nothing. I felt that the man’s life was in my hands, that I was in that hour not bound by whatever any man or body of men might say or think, but that I had a solemn question to decide. I said to my fellow jurymen, ‘Gentlemen, I cannot and will not stand with you in a verdict of guilty against the prisoner, as I believe him to be innocent.’“That was my decision, and all the arguments and objections they could bring forward during a long confinement could not change it.“On the fourth day we were discharged, and the prisoner set free.“Much was said against me; I was even accused of having been bought up by the young man’s family, which was a very wealthy and influential one, and even to this day if I go back there I should be pointed out as the man who sold his verdict. But it had been a matter of conscience with me, and I could not regret it. I have yet to tell you how it was the means of saving my life.“Shortly after the trial, and more because of the ill-name it had given me than anything else, I removed to New York, started in business there, and found myself some years afterwards a prosperous merchant, yet somewhat broken in health. On the latter account I determined upon a sea voyage.“I went to Fayal for several seasons, travelled a year or so on the Continent, and finally, having in a great measure recovered my health, I took passage by steamer to New York.“Somewhere about mid-ocean we experienced a terrible storm. I think the steamer was by no means so seaworthy as she should have been for a voyage at that time of the year (it was in September); at any rate a single night of rough weather strained her severely, and at breakfast next morning it was whispered about that there was a leak forward, and that the water was gaining on us in spite of everything that could be done—all the while, too, the violence of the storm increased rather than diminished.“Two of the steamer’s boats had been disabled in the storm; a rush was made for the remaining three by the cowardly crew; one was stove in launching, and the other two swamped, and their occupants left helpless in the water before they had put half a dozen yards between them and the ship.“Indeed no boat, however staunch, could have lived in such a sea.“As soon as it became definitely known that the vessel was making water, I had gone below and reassured the affrighted lady passengers as well as I could, and helped them to secure their life-preservers. Indeed so assiduous had I become in the latter office that I had neglected to save one for myself, and when suddenly an appalling cry came from deck, and we rushed up just as the ship seemed in her last death struggle, I was entirely destitute of any means for keeping afloat. I succeeded, however, in getting possession of a large plank, and while the passengers were jumping overboard all around me I stood calmly by the rail waiting for the last moment.“Beside me I now noticed for the first time a man of about my own age.“He had a life-preserver strapped to his shoulders, and, like myself, appeared to be waiting for the final shock.“‘You have no life-preserver?’ he said, interrogatively.“‘No,’ I answered, ‘but this plank will, I think, serve me as well. There seems to have been an insufficient supply of life-preservers—I could get no more.“‘Take mine,’ he said, and without a moment’s hesitation began to unfasten it. I said I would not think of such a thing, and put out my hand to stop him.’“What he might have said further was cut short by a sudden thrill that ran through the vessel from stem to stern.“With all my might I flung my plank from me, and sprang after it in the water.“Then I remember feeling a sharp blow on the head, and seeing a thousand flashing lights, and then all was blank until I awoke to consciousness, to find myself fastened firmly to the plank by the strongest of lashings—a pair of human hands and arms. I felt, too, something about my shoulders which almost without thought I knew to be a life-preserver.“The sea was dashing violently over me, and nearly smothered as I was all the time, it was some moments before I fully comprehended the situation.“I saw now that the arms which upheld me were those of the man whom I had spoken to just before I left the vessel.“He was supporting himself and me, too, by means of the plank.“‘What is the meaning of this?’ I gasped, as soon as I found my voice.“‘You struck your head against the plank, when you came. You were floating like a dead fish. I jumped over, and brought you back to the plank.’“‘How long have I been this way?’“‘About an hour, though it seems half a day.’“‘Well, I can hold on for myself now,’ I said. ‘How shall I ever repay you for what you have done? I owe my life to you.’“‘But mine has belonged to you for twenty years,’ he said, with strange significance, and I noticed that his voice was feeble with continued exertion.“Just then the waves swept over us more furiously than ever.“As soon as there was a lull, I asked again—“‘How came I with this life-preserver?’“‘I put it on for you, and you must keep it.’“‘Why must I?’“‘You don’t remember me,’ he said. ‘You don’t know that it was you who once saved me from a dreadful death, but you will recollect me when I tell you that it was I who was tried for murder twenty years ago in M—— Court-house.’“He paused again, and feebly strove to collect himself.“The frank boyish face that I remembered was gone, but his eyes were the same that had met mine that day when the prisoner had uttered his strange words to the jury.“‘Yes,’ he went on, ‘you were man enough to acquit me, because you believed me innocent, and you were right. I repeat it here in this hour of death—for I shall not be alive an hour hence—I was innocent. It was another who committed the crime, and I would have died rather than betray him.’“Still another long pause, and then again he went on with great effort—“‘Aye, you saved my life, but I sometimes wonder if it was well you did so. I have seen no happy moment since then. I have wandered up and down the earth with the brand of Cain upon my life, and men have everywhere found it out, and turned from me.’ He reached out his hand to mine, and as I took it he said—‘I am getting weaker and weaker, and there is no good in my hanging on here any longer.’ He wrenched his hand away from mine and said—‘Heaven preserve and protect you!’ and before I could make a motion to detain him he had let go his hold, and a passing wave swept him away out of my sight, and out of my life for ever. Gentlemen, that is the end of my story, which, I assure you, is a true one. I was saved, of course, else I should not be here to tell the tale. I was picked up just at dark, when I had relinquished all hope.”“Dall it, but that be a wonderful story,” replied several present.“And how came it that he was so near being found guilty? He were innocent, I s’pose?” said one of the farmers.“As innocent as you are yourself,” replied the stranger. “It was a case of mistaken identity. The prisoner resembled the actual murderer in a most remarkable degree, but the man who had committed the crime was a great friend of the prisoner, who would have suffered death rather than have betrayed his friend.”“It’s a deal more than I would do for any man,” observed Brickett.“Very likely not, but men are very differently constituted. It is perhaps more than any one of us would do.”“The case bears out my argument,” said Slapperton; “but it is by no means a solitary instance. I will give you another. At a certain assizes, which it is not necessary for me to name, although many of my professional friends are intimately acquainted with the facts, during the trial of a prisoner for burglary there arose a difficulty—this being a clear proof of the prisoner’s identity.“Baron Alderson, one of the most celebrated judges, in the course of his summing-up, being anxious to impress upon the jury the necessity of caution in the case before them, spoke as follows:—“‘At one of the first assizes at which I was present soon after entering the profession, a prisoner was charged with the murder of a woman who lived in a secluded cottage about two miles distant from his own house.“‘Evidence was given as to what might be regarded as a motive for the offence, and as to language having been let fall by the prisoner indicating hostility to the deceased. On that account, I presume, it was that the moment the crime was known suspicion fell upon the prisoner, and search was at once made for him.“‘He was arrested shortly after the crime had been committed at a place which was not his house, and was at once identified by a host of witnesses, some of whom had seen him shortly before the murder going by a road which led from his house to the scene of the tragedy. Others saw him immediately after it had taken place returning by another and more circuitous route which led to his own house.“‘Some of these witnesses were intimately acquainted with him, as intimate as the witnesses were who gave their evidence to-day with the accused. Others knew him by sight only, and others described him as identical in height, dress, and general appearance with the man in question.“‘One man who met him going to the fatal spot spoke to him and received an answer, and confidently deposed to his identity from his voice, as well as from other circumstances.“‘A woman who knew him well, and who kept a turnpike gate, near which was a pathway leading to the deceased cottage, remembered the prisoner passing through the gate on the night in question.“‘Footprints were observed near the scene of the murder, which, though indistinct, corresponded with those of the prisoner, and were traced along the pathway leading to the place.’”“Ah! I doan’t believe in footprints!” cried a farmer present.No.33.Illustration: CONVICTS TO DARTMOOR.A BATCH OF CONVICTS ON THE WAY TO DARTMOOR.“Nor I,” returned the lawyer, who then continued his narrative in the judge’s words: “Well, gentlemen, in addition to all this the man was spoken to on his way home by one who knew him, and none of the witnesses were aware of any reason other than that of guilt, which might have induced him to go to the place at which he was taken into custody.“‘Now the evidence of all these witnesses presented a striking correspondence in respect to time, each having noticed the man at nearly about the same hour.“‘In short, so great was the testimony showing the prisoner to have approached the scene of the crime shortly before it was committed, and his departure from the spot soon afterwards, that these circumstances seemed conclusively established, and the only question which appeared to cause any anxiety in the mind of the judge was how far the circumstances were established, coupled with the motive, the malice, and the footprints, to compel belief in the commission of a crime of which more direct evidence was wanting.“‘The case for the prosecution was closed, and the prisoner was called upon for his defence.“‘He called only one witness. It was the gaoler, who deposed that on the day of the murder, and for some time before and for three days afterwards, he had the prisoner in his custody for another offence, of which he was acquitted, the gaoler himself having been present at the trial.“‘The prisoner himself made one observation, which was, that the reason he could not make up his mind to go home was that, having been adjudged innocent, he did not want his neighbours to know that he had ever been in gaol.“‘Gentlemen,’ said the learned baron, ‘I need not tell you the result.’“Nor need I tell you the result,” observed Mr. Slapperton, addressing himself to the company in the parlour of the “Shoulder of Mutton,” “of an accusation turning on a question of disputed identity, where the judge himself thought it necessary to recall so striking an experience for the caution and guidance of the jury. What say you, Mr. Brickett?”“Ye be too much for me, I doubt,” returned the host of the “Carved Lion.” “Ye’d mek me bleeve black was white.”“You are obstinate, my friend, and, I’m afraid, a little prejudiced,” observed the attorney; “but after all it is but natural.”“If I stop much longer you’ll persuade me that my eyes ain’t no good to me, and that I’ve got colour-blindness or something o’ that sort. I never seed such a chap in all my born days as what ye are,” said Brickett, rising from his seat.“Don’t go, my friend,” said Slapperton, good-humouredly. “We’ll make a lawyer of you in time. To succeed in the legal profession a man requires either a great deal of talent, or else a great deal of impudence.”“One o’ them two you’ve got a pretty good stock of—I won’t say which it be,” cried Brickett.This last observation was greeted with uproarious laughter, and the host of the “Carved Lion” was applauded to the echo.“Excellent—very good, indeed!” cried Slapperton. “I should not have supposed you’d have had it in you, but you are sharpened up to-day. You see what it is to be in my company.”“Well, I must be for going,” said Brickett.“Don’t ’e be in such a might hurry,” observed a farmer. “I shall be for starting myself in less than half an hour, and am going your way—so sit down and make your life as happy as you can. We are all on us friends here, and my company be better nor none, I s’pose?”“All right,” cried the landlord of the “Carved Lion.” “When you be ready I’m at your service.”“Truly a most complacent man,” said Slapperton. “A little obstinate perhaps, but not a bad fellow in the main.”“I s’pose you mean the lion’s main?” cried a rustic wit.“Oh, yes, I see our friend here keeps the ‘Carved Lion.’ Very good indeed for an off-hander,” observed the lawyer; “and as most of you represent the agricultural interest,” he added, in continuation, “I’ll give you the particulars of a case which came under my own observation, as doubtless it will amuse you.It was at Northamptonshire Sessions several years ago that a man was indicted for stealing a duck. The facts are simple enough, and you won’t require any stretch of imagination to comprehend the case as it was presented to the judge and jury.As the prisoner was walking along the highway he was seen by a witness, who was journeying the same road, to enter a field, the gate of which opened on the highway, and seize a duck under his arm.You must understand that he continued to walk in the same direction in which he had been going before, and that a little higher up on the road before him was the farmhouse belonging to the farm from which the duck was taken.“Gad, he must ha’ had the impudence of a highwayman’s horse!” exclaimed one of the party.Mr. Slapperton continued: This and the fact that he was apprehended with the duck under his arm, and was unknown to the witness or the constable, was the sole evidence adduced by the prosecution.“And warn’t that enough?” said one of the company.You shall hear. The defendant’s counsel said, “I understood you to say that you were walking behind the prisoner?”“Yes, sir, I was.”“Can you tell me how far behind?”“Well, as nearly as I can guess, it might be a hundred yards or more.”“Oh, a hundred yards, and did you know there were ducks in the field into which he went?”“Oh, yes, I’m quite sure of that, for I heard them quacking.”“What! at that distance? They were making a great noise, then?”“Yes, a very great noise.”“And did you see the dog that was worrying them and causing them to make that noise?”“I didn’t see any dog.”“You didn’t, eh? Pray let me understand what you did see. When the prisoner went up to the gate, did you see the ducks?”“Oh, dear me, no. That was not possible; the ducks were round the corner, loike. You couldn’t see ’em till you got close up to the gate.”“Then if a dog was worrying the ducks, you would not see the dog till you got close up to the gate?”“Certainly not.”Chairman: “Did you hear any dog—and when you got to the gate, did you see one?”“No, my lord, I did not see any dog at all.”“But,” said the counsel, “as you were so far behind the prisoner, and you could not see the ducks, there might have been a dog there, although you did not see it.”“I don’t think there was one—still there might have been one, but I am quite positive that I did not see one.”“And he never heard one,” said the chairman.“No, my lord,” returned the counsel. “You see the ducks were making a very great noise.”“If the dog barked—which, in such a situation, he most likely would—his bark must have been heard,” said the chairman.“Not necessarily so, my lord.”After a little re-examination as to whether there were any marks of a dog’s teeth upon the duck’s neck, the case was closed for the prosecution.“Gentlemen of the jury,” said the counsel for the prisoner, “from the questions which I have put to the principal witness called for the prosecution you will have already anticipated the case I have to submit to you on the part of the defendant. He is a perfect stranger to this part of the country, and has fallen a victim, far away from his friends, to his efforts to rescue a helpless creature from suffering.“He was passing along the highway thinking only of getting to the end of his journey, and little dreaming of the misfortune which was in store for him. When he came to the gate, hearing a noise, which the witness has described, his attention was attracted to the cause of it, which was a little dog worrying one of the ducks, and of course alarming the rest. The prisoner, I am informed, is a kindly-disposed, humane person, and it frequently happens that these qualities cause their possessor to get into trouble which a less considerate person would perhaps avoid. He was too late to be of much service to the poor duck, but the dog ran away at his approach like a little mischievous cur, as he doubtless was. This is the reason why the witness never saw the dog. The prisoner rang the poor bird’s neck to put it out of its pain. I trust any one of you would have done the same under similar circumstances.“And yet this humane action has brought this worthy man before you under a disgraceful criminal charge, of which, however, I feel confident you will acquit him.“What can be more absurd than to suppose for one moment that a man who intended to steal a duck would go in the broad daylight, and take it from a field, and wring its neck and put it under his arm within sight of a witness a hundred yards behind him, and then having carefully provided this evidence of his guilt would carry the stolen property in the direction of the owner’s house where it would be certain to be identified? My lord very properly put the question whether the witness heard the dog barking, but my learned friend unintentionally cleared up that difficulty by suggesting, in a question to the witness, that the dog might have seized the duck by the neck. Now, if a dog has a duck’s neck or any part of a duck in his mouth, I think that it is quite enough to account for the animal not barking; so much for the witness nothearingthe dog. As for his notseeinghim, it would be very odd if he had, when my client had gone into the field and frightened the dog away before the witness came up.“Gentlemen, as the unfortunate man before you is debarred by the law from giving evidence in his own defence, and the only other witness to the transaction has been called for the prosecution, I have necessarily no evidence to lay before you; but as the only witness whom you have heard admitsthere might have been a dog although he did not see it, I confidently ask you to act in accordance with the humane maxim of the law, and give the prisoner the benefit of the doubt.”“Well, gentlemen,” said the chairman, “I need not recapitulate the evidence. I have heard the tale of a ‘Cock and a Bull,’ but I never heard till this day of a tale of a dog and a duck. Consider your verdict.”The jury did so, and without leaving the box returned a verdict of“Not Guilty.”The learned counsel for the prosecution sang a song very well, and entertained his brethren that evening at mess, and many evenings afterwards on circuit also, with the song of “The Dog and the Duck,” to each stanza of which was appended a remarkable chorus, which no type unadapted to music can effectually render. One stanza only I remember.The witness swore he saw no dog,The counsel said “So be it,”But then you know there might have been a dog,Although you did not see it.Bow, wow, wow,Tow, row, row,Whack fol de riddle diddle,Bow, wow, wow.The story was told me by one of the counsel concerned in the case, who, however, took care to add (as I am told he always did) that he would not have me suppose that the plea put forward so successfully for the defence was an invention of the defendant’s counsel, but that it was contained in his instructions.The other counsel in the case, after a long and successful career at the bar, where his wit and good humour made him beloved, and his learning respected by all who knew him, ended his days on the bench, his elevation to which was the proper recognition of an honourable and distinguished career.The foregoing amusing case is included in legal cases under the title of “Twelve Tales of the Law.”“Didn’t I tell ’ee that these lawyer chaps can mek anybody bleeve black’s white?” cried Brickett, when Mr. Slapperton concluded. “He meant prigging the duck, depend on that.”“You’re a prejudiced man,” said Slapperton. “All’s fair in love, trade, war, and law.”The company in the parlour of the “Shoulder of Mutton” had a longer sitting than usual, and they now began to break up. There was no end of shaking of hands, as by ones, twos, and threes, they took their departure.
As we have already intimated it was market day, and as a natural consequence the court, the streets, and the public-houses were crowded to overflowing. The chief topic of conversation was, as a matter of course, the great murder case.
In close proximity to the court-house stood a well-known inn, bearing the sign of the “Shoulder of Mutton,” and to this establishment Mr. Slapperton bent his steps. He was a man who courted publicity, and, if it was attainable, popularity also. He was a great talker, an adept at laying down the law, and he felt that he cut what he called a respectable figure in the court, and refreshment after his arduous duties was absolutely requisite; besides, he had one or two clients to meet at the “Shoulder of Mutton.”
Although his conduct had been very reprehensible and pugnacious while in court, there were many who admired what they were pleased to term his “pluck,” and upon entering the public room several of its inmates rose from their seats and shook him warmly by the hand.
“So, Measter Slapperton,” cried a broad-shouldered grazier, “you warn’t a goin’ to let the big wigs ha’ it all their own way.”
“There are two sides to an argument, my friend,” returned the lawyer.
“An yourn be the roight side, I s’pose,” cried a voice from the further end of the room.
“Well, I hope so. That remains to be proved,” answered Slapperton, making the best of his way towards an ante-room, in which the dinner he had ordered was about to be served. Here two of his clients awaited him.
After he had received their instructions, and devoured his substantial repast, he returned to the public room, which was filled with well-to-do agriculturists.
Mr. Slapperton seated himself, sipped his port wine, and lighted his cigar. He felt that he was the “observed of all observers,” and this flattered the legal gentleman’s vanity.
There was a sort of running fire of observations on the all-absorbing topic.
One farmer, more pertinacious than the rest, turned towards the attorney, and said—
“An’ do ye think as how they’ll bring it hoame to the murdering scoundrel, zur.”
“I don’t give an opinion without the usual fee,” observed Slapperton.
This retort was greeted with loud and continuous guffaws.
“You’ve got ee change, old man,” said one.
“It aint no yoose trying it on wi’ a lawyer,” cried another.
“Oh, there’s no secret about the matter, gentlemen,” said Slapperton. “It is simply a question of identity. If the witnesses are mistaken, which I affirm they are, it would be wrong indeed to hang a man upon their testimony. So many questions arise in cases of this sort. Fatness and thinness are great aids to recognition, yet they are temporary, dependent sometimes on mere accidents of health. We have all of us met friends whom we have not seen, say, for three years, who have grown wider if not wiser in the interval, and whom we should not, without speech, have recognised.”
“That be true enough,” said one of the company. “I ha’ had the thing occur to me.”
“So have I,” said the lawyer, who was on his favourite hobby. “I can say so positively.”
“You’re not agoin’ to mek me b’lieve that ee be innocent, identity or no identity,” cried Brickett, who was one of the company.
“Oh, it’s you, eh?” said the lawyer, looking curiously at the speaker. “I shall not endeavour to do so. You heard what I said about prejudice?”
“Yes, I did, and it beant true. There be no prejudice in the matter. I could have sed more if I’d bin amind.”
“Ah, I dare say; but now, with respect to identity, I think of the excessive difficulty with which the memory retains a face. Portrait painters of half a century’s standing will tell you that they hardly retain the impression of a sitter five minutes, though they have been studying him keenly, that their own first touches from him as he sits are invaluable helps; that they would all, if it were convenient for art reasons, like to keep a photograph in full view for their work when the original is away. We think we remember, but in five minutes we forget, the half of a friend’s face nearly as perfectly as we forget the whole of our own. Clearly if identification were as easy as we are apt to believe, we should not so forget faces. And their expression? Doubtless, expression being, so to speak, an intellectual rather than a physical fact, stirring and rousing the intellect of the observer, his secret and almost instinctive likes and dislikes, remains longer fixed in the mind than mere feature. The witness who arrested Judge Jeffries might have forgotten his face, did forget it, in fact, for Jeffries when seized had only changed his wig, but he could not forget the ferocious glare of those insufferable eyes. But expression changes quickly, may change permanently. We all say every now and then, ‘His face is quite changed,’ while nothing is changed except, perhaps, the expression and the colour. Madness, extreme anger, drink, will all change a well-known face till it is almost irrecognisable.”
“That may be all true,” said one of the company, “but somehow or another I do not think there’s much mistake ’bout that chap—he did the murder right enough.”
“Aye, an’ sure he did,” cried Brickett, “as sartain as I’m a speakin’ now—the black-hearted villain. It aint a morsel o’ good for any one for to be trying to argue us out o’ our seven senses. He be the man and none other.”
“Yes, that’s your opinion,” said Slapperton, “but it is not right and proper to hang a man upon mere opinion or hearsay.”
“Certainly not,” said an elderly gentleman, who was a stranger to them all. “It is requisite to have the clearest and most unanswerable evidence when a man is put upon his trial for a capital offence. I’ve seen a good deal in my time, have been to most parts of the world, and in early life I was concerned in a trial—was one of the jury in fact—and but for me the man would have been hanged.”
“Noe—noe,” cried several, with wondering looks.
“All juries do not always agree,” said Slapperton; “but perhaps our friend will give us the benefit of his experience.”
“Aye, do, sur. Let’s hear all about it,” cried several.
“Speaking of a jury’s disagreeing,” said the old gentleman, “I myself was once the cause of such an occurrence, and I can’t say that I ever regretted it since it saved not only the life of the prisoner, whom I believed to be an innocent man, but my own life.”
“Why, how was that?” inquired several.
“It is really quite a romance in its way,” he replied, “and if you care to listen, I’ll go through it once more.
“It happened many years ago when I was in the United States. Very shortly after I came of age I was summoned on a jury. As it was my first experience I did not attempt to escape serving, as older men are apt to do.
“The only important case that came before us was the trial of a young man for the murder of his own father.
“I won’t go into the particulars any more than is necessary for the story.
“The crime was a most horrible and unnatural one, and to look at the frank, boyish face, and believe him capable of it, seemed impossible.
“The evidence was entirely circumstantial, yet gradually as its terrible weight accumulated, an abundant motive was found in the son’s desire to inherit at once the father’s immense wealth, as it was shown they had recently quarrelled, that hot words had been given and returned, that the young man had publicly threatened his father’s life.
“One by one the jurymen by my side lost faith in the prisoner, and finally when it was clearly proved that he was within five rods of the murdered man, almost after the fatal shot was heard, that he had an empty pistol in his hand, that the ball taken from the wound evidently belonged to the pistol, and that he acted most strangely and unlike an innocent man when found at this time.
“There was only one man on the jury who had not already made up his mind for the terrible verdict—guilty. That man was myself.
“Somehow or other I could not believe the man before me was guilty of the crime charged.
“At the last moment after the judge had charged the jury the prisoner started up and asked if he might say a word for himself.
“Upon permission being given he spoke in a manly voice as follows:—
“‘Gentlemen of the jury, his lordship has just charged you to find a verdict entirely upon the evidence. If you do, you will convict me, and add one more to the long list of unfortunate one’s who have been victims of circumstantial evidence.
“‘But I charge you here, in the presence of God and man, to find a verdict according to your own belief, and may some one among you believe me at this moment when I say, as God hears me, I am an innocent man.
“‘You will say I acted wrongly, gentlemen—I grant it myself, if you look at the mere law of the question.’
“It was an unusual speech to make at such a time—one, perhaps, which should not have been permitted. It made quite a sensation in the court, and as the prisoner sat down his fearless eye caught mine for an instant, and I felt, and he felt, that I was the man of whom he spoke, for at that moment with a certainty that amounted to positive conviction Iknewthat he was innocent.
“The other eleven men came to a decision almost instantly after leaving the box. They said the prisoner was undoubtedly guilty, and I, for awhile, said nothing. I felt that the man’s life was in my hands, that I was in that hour not bound by whatever any man or body of men might say or think, but that I had a solemn question to decide. I said to my fellow jurymen, ‘Gentlemen, I cannot and will not stand with you in a verdict of guilty against the prisoner, as I believe him to be innocent.’
“That was my decision, and all the arguments and objections they could bring forward during a long confinement could not change it.
“On the fourth day we were discharged, and the prisoner set free.
“Much was said against me; I was even accused of having been bought up by the young man’s family, which was a very wealthy and influential one, and even to this day if I go back there I should be pointed out as the man who sold his verdict. But it had been a matter of conscience with me, and I could not regret it. I have yet to tell you how it was the means of saving my life.
“Shortly after the trial, and more because of the ill-name it had given me than anything else, I removed to New York, started in business there, and found myself some years afterwards a prosperous merchant, yet somewhat broken in health. On the latter account I determined upon a sea voyage.
“I went to Fayal for several seasons, travelled a year or so on the Continent, and finally, having in a great measure recovered my health, I took passage by steamer to New York.
“Somewhere about mid-ocean we experienced a terrible storm. I think the steamer was by no means so seaworthy as she should have been for a voyage at that time of the year (it was in September); at any rate a single night of rough weather strained her severely, and at breakfast next morning it was whispered about that there was a leak forward, and that the water was gaining on us in spite of everything that could be done—all the while, too, the violence of the storm increased rather than diminished.
“Two of the steamer’s boats had been disabled in the storm; a rush was made for the remaining three by the cowardly crew; one was stove in launching, and the other two swamped, and their occupants left helpless in the water before they had put half a dozen yards between them and the ship.
“Indeed no boat, however staunch, could have lived in such a sea.
“As soon as it became definitely known that the vessel was making water, I had gone below and reassured the affrighted lady passengers as well as I could, and helped them to secure their life-preservers. Indeed so assiduous had I become in the latter office that I had neglected to save one for myself, and when suddenly an appalling cry came from deck, and we rushed up just as the ship seemed in her last death struggle, I was entirely destitute of any means for keeping afloat. I succeeded, however, in getting possession of a large plank, and while the passengers were jumping overboard all around me I stood calmly by the rail waiting for the last moment.
“Beside me I now noticed for the first time a man of about my own age.
“He had a life-preserver strapped to his shoulders, and, like myself, appeared to be waiting for the final shock.
“‘You have no life-preserver?’ he said, interrogatively.
“‘No,’ I answered, ‘but this plank will, I think, serve me as well. There seems to have been an insufficient supply of life-preservers—I could get no more.
“‘Take mine,’ he said, and without a moment’s hesitation began to unfasten it. I said I would not think of such a thing, and put out my hand to stop him.’
“What he might have said further was cut short by a sudden thrill that ran through the vessel from stem to stern.
“With all my might I flung my plank from me, and sprang after it in the water.
“Then I remember feeling a sharp blow on the head, and seeing a thousand flashing lights, and then all was blank until I awoke to consciousness, to find myself fastened firmly to the plank by the strongest of lashings—a pair of human hands and arms. I felt, too, something about my shoulders which almost without thought I knew to be a life-preserver.
“The sea was dashing violently over me, and nearly smothered as I was all the time, it was some moments before I fully comprehended the situation.
“I saw now that the arms which upheld me were those of the man whom I had spoken to just before I left the vessel.
“He was supporting himself and me, too, by means of the plank.
“‘What is the meaning of this?’ I gasped, as soon as I found my voice.
“‘You struck your head against the plank, when you came. You were floating like a dead fish. I jumped over, and brought you back to the plank.’
“‘How long have I been this way?’
“‘About an hour, though it seems half a day.’
“‘Well, I can hold on for myself now,’ I said. ‘How shall I ever repay you for what you have done? I owe my life to you.’
“‘But mine has belonged to you for twenty years,’ he said, with strange significance, and I noticed that his voice was feeble with continued exertion.
“Just then the waves swept over us more furiously than ever.
“As soon as there was a lull, I asked again—
“‘How came I with this life-preserver?’
“‘I put it on for you, and you must keep it.’
“‘Why must I?’
“‘You don’t remember me,’ he said. ‘You don’t know that it was you who once saved me from a dreadful death, but you will recollect me when I tell you that it was I who was tried for murder twenty years ago in M—— Court-house.’
“He paused again, and feebly strove to collect himself.
“The frank boyish face that I remembered was gone, but his eyes were the same that had met mine that day when the prisoner had uttered his strange words to the jury.
“‘Yes,’ he went on, ‘you were man enough to acquit me, because you believed me innocent, and you were right. I repeat it here in this hour of death—for I shall not be alive an hour hence—I was innocent. It was another who committed the crime, and I would have died rather than betray him.’
“Still another long pause, and then again he went on with great effort—
“‘Aye, you saved my life, but I sometimes wonder if it was well you did so. I have seen no happy moment since then. I have wandered up and down the earth with the brand of Cain upon my life, and men have everywhere found it out, and turned from me.’ He reached out his hand to mine, and as I took it he said—‘I am getting weaker and weaker, and there is no good in my hanging on here any longer.’ He wrenched his hand away from mine and said—‘Heaven preserve and protect you!’ and before I could make a motion to detain him he had let go his hold, and a passing wave swept him away out of my sight, and out of my life for ever. Gentlemen, that is the end of my story, which, I assure you, is a true one. I was saved, of course, else I should not be here to tell the tale. I was picked up just at dark, when I had relinquished all hope.”
“Dall it, but that be a wonderful story,” replied several present.
“And how came it that he was so near being found guilty? He were innocent, I s’pose?” said one of the farmers.
“As innocent as you are yourself,” replied the stranger. “It was a case of mistaken identity. The prisoner resembled the actual murderer in a most remarkable degree, but the man who had committed the crime was a great friend of the prisoner, who would have suffered death rather than have betrayed his friend.”
“It’s a deal more than I would do for any man,” observed Brickett.
“Very likely not, but men are very differently constituted. It is perhaps more than any one of us would do.”
“The case bears out my argument,” said Slapperton; “but it is by no means a solitary instance. I will give you another. At a certain assizes, which it is not necessary for me to name, although many of my professional friends are intimately acquainted with the facts, during the trial of a prisoner for burglary there arose a difficulty—this being a clear proof of the prisoner’s identity.
“Baron Alderson, one of the most celebrated judges, in the course of his summing-up, being anxious to impress upon the jury the necessity of caution in the case before them, spoke as follows:—
“‘At one of the first assizes at which I was present soon after entering the profession, a prisoner was charged with the murder of a woman who lived in a secluded cottage about two miles distant from his own house.
“‘Evidence was given as to what might be regarded as a motive for the offence, and as to language having been let fall by the prisoner indicating hostility to the deceased. On that account, I presume, it was that the moment the crime was known suspicion fell upon the prisoner, and search was at once made for him.
“‘He was arrested shortly after the crime had been committed at a place which was not his house, and was at once identified by a host of witnesses, some of whom had seen him shortly before the murder going by a road which led from his house to the scene of the tragedy. Others saw him immediately after it had taken place returning by another and more circuitous route which led to his own house.
“‘Some of these witnesses were intimately acquainted with him, as intimate as the witnesses were who gave their evidence to-day with the accused. Others knew him by sight only, and others described him as identical in height, dress, and general appearance with the man in question.
“‘One man who met him going to the fatal spot spoke to him and received an answer, and confidently deposed to his identity from his voice, as well as from other circumstances.
“‘A woman who knew him well, and who kept a turnpike gate, near which was a pathway leading to the deceased cottage, remembered the prisoner passing through the gate on the night in question.
“‘Footprints were observed near the scene of the murder, which, though indistinct, corresponded with those of the prisoner, and were traced along the pathway leading to the place.’”
“Ah! I doan’t believe in footprints!” cried a farmer present.
No.33.
Illustration: CONVICTS TO DARTMOOR.A BATCH OF CONVICTS ON THE WAY TO DARTMOOR.
A BATCH OF CONVICTS ON THE WAY TO DARTMOOR.
“Nor I,” returned the lawyer, who then continued his narrative in the judge’s words: “Well, gentlemen, in addition to all this the man was spoken to on his way home by one who knew him, and none of the witnesses were aware of any reason other than that of guilt, which might have induced him to go to the place at which he was taken into custody.
“‘Now the evidence of all these witnesses presented a striking correspondence in respect to time, each having noticed the man at nearly about the same hour.
“‘In short, so great was the testimony showing the prisoner to have approached the scene of the crime shortly before it was committed, and his departure from the spot soon afterwards, that these circumstances seemed conclusively established, and the only question which appeared to cause any anxiety in the mind of the judge was how far the circumstances were established, coupled with the motive, the malice, and the footprints, to compel belief in the commission of a crime of which more direct evidence was wanting.
“‘The case for the prosecution was closed, and the prisoner was called upon for his defence.
“‘He called only one witness. It was the gaoler, who deposed that on the day of the murder, and for some time before and for three days afterwards, he had the prisoner in his custody for another offence, of which he was acquitted, the gaoler himself having been present at the trial.
“‘The prisoner himself made one observation, which was, that the reason he could not make up his mind to go home was that, having been adjudged innocent, he did not want his neighbours to know that he had ever been in gaol.
“‘Gentlemen,’ said the learned baron, ‘I need not tell you the result.’
“Nor need I tell you the result,” observed Mr. Slapperton, addressing himself to the company in the parlour of the “Shoulder of Mutton,” “of an accusation turning on a question of disputed identity, where the judge himself thought it necessary to recall so striking an experience for the caution and guidance of the jury. What say you, Mr. Brickett?”
“Ye be too much for me, I doubt,” returned the host of the “Carved Lion.” “Ye’d mek me bleeve black was white.”
“You are obstinate, my friend, and, I’m afraid, a little prejudiced,” observed the attorney; “but after all it is but natural.”
“If I stop much longer you’ll persuade me that my eyes ain’t no good to me, and that I’ve got colour-blindness or something o’ that sort. I never seed such a chap in all my born days as what ye are,” said Brickett, rising from his seat.
“Don’t go, my friend,” said Slapperton, good-humouredly. “We’ll make a lawyer of you in time. To succeed in the legal profession a man requires either a great deal of talent, or else a great deal of impudence.”
“One o’ them two you’ve got a pretty good stock of—I won’t say which it be,” cried Brickett.
This last observation was greeted with uproarious laughter, and the host of the “Carved Lion” was applauded to the echo.
“Excellent—very good, indeed!” cried Slapperton. “I should not have supposed you’d have had it in you, but you are sharpened up to-day. You see what it is to be in my company.”
“Well, I must be for going,” said Brickett.
“Don’t ’e be in such a might hurry,” observed a farmer. “I shall be for starting myself in less than half an hour, and am going your way—so sit down and make your life as happy as you can. We are all on us friends here, and my company be better nor none, I s’pose?”
“All right,” cried the landlord of the “Carved Lion.” “When you be ready I’m at your service.”
“Truly a most complacent man,” said Slapperton. “A little obstinate perhaps, but not a bad fellow in the main.”
“I s’pose you mean the lion’s main?” cried a rustic wit.
“Oh, yes, I see our friend here keeps the ‘Carved Lion.’ Very good indeed for an off-hander,” observed the lawyer; “and as most of you represent the agricultural interest,” he added, in continuation, “I’ll give you the particulars of a case which came under my own observation, as doubtless it will amuse you.
It was at Northamptonshire Sessions several years ago that a man was indicted for stealing a duck. The facts are simple enough, and you won’t require any stretch of imagination to comprehend the case as it was presented to the judge and jury.
As the prisoner was walking along the highway he was seen by a witness, who was journeying the same road, to enter a field, the gate of which opened on the highway, and seize a duck under his arm.
You must understand that he continued to walk in the same direction in which he had been going before, and that a little higher up on the road before him was the farmhouse belonging to the farm from which the duck was taken.
“Gad, he must ha’ had the impudence of a highwayman’s horse!” exclaimed one of the party.
Mr. Slapperton continued: This and the fact that he was apprehended with the duck under his arm, and was unknown to the witness or the constable, was the sole evidence adduced by the prosecution.
“And warn’t that enough?” said one of the company.
You shall hear. The defendant’s counsel said, “I understood you to say that you were walking behind the prisoner?”
“Yes, sir, I was.”
“Can you tell me how far behind?”
“Well, as nearly as I can guess, it might be a hundred yards or more.”
“Oh, a hundred yards, and did you know there were ducks in the field into which he went?”
“Oh, yes, I’m quite sure of that, for I heard them quacking.”
“What! at that distance? They were making a great noise, then?”
“Yes, a very great noise.”
“And did you see the dog that was worrying them and causing them to make that noise?”
“I didn’t see any dog.”
“You didn’t, eh? Pray let me understand what you did see. When the prisoner went up to the gate, did you see the ducks?”
“Oh, dear me, no. That was not possible; the ducks were round the corner, loike. You couldn’t see ’em till you got close up to the gate.”
“Then if a dog was worrying the ducks, you would not see the dog till you got close up to the gate?”
“Certainly not.”
Chairman: “Did you hear any dog—and when you got to the gate, did you see one?”
“No, my lord, I did not see any dog at all.”
“But,” said the counsel, “as you were so far behind the prisoner, and you could not see the ducks, there might have been a dog there, although you did not see it.”
“I don’t think there was one—still there might have been one, but I am quite positive that I did not see one.”
“And he never heard one,” said the chairman.
“No, my lord,” returned the counsel. “You see the ducks were making a very great noise.”
“If the dog barked—which, in such a situation, he most likely would—his bark must have been heard,” said the chairman.
“Not necessarily so, my lord.”
After a little re-examination as to whether there were any marks of a dog’s teeth upon the duck’s neck, the case was closed for the prosecution.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” said the counsel for the prisoner, “from the questions which I have put to the principal witness called for the prosecution you will have already anticipated the case I have to submit to you on the part of the defendant. He is a perfect stranger to this part of the country, and has fallen a victim, far away from his friends, to his efforts to rescue a helpless creature from suffering.
“He was passing along the highway thinking only of getting to the end of his journey, and little dreaming of the misfortune which was in store for him. When he came to the gate, hearing a noise, which the witness has described, his attention was attracted to the cause of it, which was a little dog worrying one of the ducks, and of course alarming the rest. The prisoner, I am informed, is a kindly-disposed, humane person, and it frequently happens that these qualities cause their possessor to get into trouble which a less considerate person would perhaps avoid. He was too late to be of much service to the poor duck, but the dog ran away at his approach like a little mischievous cur, as he doubtless was. This is the reason why the witness never saw the dog. The prisoner rang the poor bird’s neck to put it out of its pain. I trust any one of you would have done the same under similar circumstances.
“And yet this humane action has brought this worthy man before you under a disgraceful criminal charge, of which, however, I feel confident you will acquit him.
“What can be more absurd than to suppose for one moment that a man who intended to steal a duck would go in the broad daylight, and take it from a field, and wring its neck and put it under his arm within sight of a witness a hundred yards behind him, and then having carefully provided this evidence of his guilt would carry the stolen property in the direction of the owner’s house where it would be certain to be identified? My lord very properly put the question whether the witness heard the dog barking, but my learned friend unintentionally cleared up that difficulty by suggesting, in a question to the witness, that the dog might have seized the duck by the neck. Now, if a dog has a duck’s neck or any part of a duck in his mouth, I think that it is quite enough to account for the animal not barking; so much for the witness nothearingthe dog. As for his notseeinghim, it would be very odd if he had, when my client had gone into the field and frightened the dog away before the witness came up.
“Gentlemen, as the unfortunate man before you is debarred by the law from giving evidence in his own defence, and the only other witness to the transaction has been called for the prosecution, I have necessarily no evidence to lay before you; but as the only witness whom you have heard admitsthere might have been a dog although he did not see it, I confidently ask you to act in accordance with the humane maxim of the law, and give the prisoner the benefit of the doubt.”
“Well, gentlemen,” said the chairman, “I need not recapitulate the evidence. I have heard the tale of a ‘Cock and a Bull,’ but I never heard till this day of a tale of a dog and a duck. Consider your verdict.”
The jury did so, and without leaving the box returned a verdict of
“Not Guilty.”
The learned counsel for the prosecution sang a song very well, and entertained his brethren that evening at mess, and many evenings afterwards on circuit also, with the song of “The Dog and the Duck,” to each stanza of which was appended a remarkable chorus, which no type unadapted to music can effectually render. One stanza only I remember.
The witness swore he saw no dog,The counsel said “So be it,”But then you know there might have been a dog,Although you did not see it.Bow, wow, wow,Tow, row, row,Whack fol de riddle diddle,Bow, wow, wow.
The witness swore he saw no dog,The counsel said “So be it,”But then you know there might have been a dog,Although you did not see it.Bow, wow, wow,Tow, row, row,Whack fol de riddle diddle,Bow, wow, wow.
The witness swore he saw no dog,
The counsel said “So be it,”
But then you know there might have been a dog,
Although you did not see it.
Bow, wow, wow,
Tow, row, row,
Whack fol de riddle diddle,
Bow, wow, wow.
The story was told me by one of the counsel concerned in the case, who, however, took care to add (as I am told he always did) that he would not have me suppose that the plea put forward so successfully for the defence was an invention of the defendant’s counsel, but that it was contained in his instructions.
The other counsel in the case, after a long and successful career at the bar, where his wit and good humour made him beloved, and his learning respected by all who knew him, ended his days on the bench, his elevation to which was the proper recognition of an honourable and distinguished career.
The foregoing amusing case is included in legal cases under the title of “Twelve Tales of the Law.”
“Didn’t I tell ’ee that these lawyer chaps can mek anybody bleeve black’s white?” cried Brickett, when Mr. Slapperton concluded. “He meant prigging the duck, depend on that.”
“You’re a prejudiced man,” said Slapperton. “All’s fair in love, trade, war, and law.”
The company in the parlour of the “Shoulder of Mutton” had a longer sitting than usual, and they now began to break up. There was no end of shaking of hands, as by ones, twos, and threes, they took their departure.