The newspapers made a sensation out of the announcement of Holymead's arrest on a charge of having murdered Sir Horace Fewbanks. They declared that the arrest of the eminent K.C. on a capital charge would come as a surprising development of the Riversbrook case. It would cause a shock to his many friends, and especially to those who knew what a close friendship had existed between the arrested man and the dead judge. The papers expatiated on the fact that Holymead had appeared for the defence when Frederick Birchill had been tried for the murder. As the public would remember, Birchill had been acquitted owing to the great ability with which his defence was conducted.
It was somewhat remarkable, said theDaily Record, that in his speech for the defence Holymead had attempted to throw suspicion on one of the witnesses for the prosecution. The journal hinted that it was the result of something which Counsel for the defence had let drop at this trial that Inspector Chippenfield had picked up the clue which had led to Holymead's arrest. The papers had very little information to give the public about this new development of the Fewbanks mystery, but they boldly declared that some startling revelations were expected when the case came before the court.
In the absence of interesting facts apropos of the arrest of the distinguished K.C., some of the papers published summaries of his legal career, and the more famous cases with which he had been connected. These summaries would have been equally suitable to an announcement that Mr. Holymead had been promoted to the peerage or that he had been run over by a London bus.
There were people who declared without knowing anything about the evidence the police had in their possession that in arresting the famous barrister the police had made a far worse blunder than in arresting Birchill. It was even hinted that the arrest of the man who had got Birchill off was an expression of the police desire for revenge. To these people the acquittal of Holymead was a foregone conclusion. The man who had saved Birchill's life by his brilliant forensic abilities was not likely to fail when his own life was at stake.
But when the case came before the police court and the police produced their evidence, it was seen that there was a strong case against the prisoner. The whispers as to the circumstances under which the prisoner had taken the life of a friend of many years appealed to a sentimental public. These whispers concerned the discovery by the prisoner that his friend had seduced his beautiful wife. In the police court proceedings there were no disclosures under this head, but the thing was hinted at. In view of the legal eminence of the prisoner and the fear of the police that he would prove too much for any police officer who might take charge of the prosecution, the Direction of Public Prosecutions sent Mr. Walters, K.C., to appear at the police court. The prisoner was represented by Mr. Lethbridge, K.C., an eminent barrister to whom the prisoner had been opposed in many civil cases.
Inspector Chippenfield, who realised that the important position the prisoner occupied at the bar added to the importance of the officer who had arrested him, gave evidence as to the arrest of the prisoner at his chambers in the Middle Temple. With a generous feeling, which was possibly due to the fact that he was entitled to none of the credit of collecting the evidence against the prisoner, Inspector Chippenfield allowed Detective Rolfe a subordinate share in the glory that hung round the arrest by volunteering the information in the witness-box that when making the arrest he was accompanied by that officer. He declared that the prisoner made no remark when arrested and did not seem surprised. Mr. Walters produced a left-hand glove and witness duly identified it as the glove which he found in the room in which the murder took place.
Inspector Seldon gave formal evidence of the discovery of the body of Sir Horace Fewbanks on the 19th of August. Dr. Slingsby repeated the evidence that he had given at the trial of Birchill as to the cause of death, and was again professionally indefinite as to the length of time the victim had been dead when he saw the body. Thomas Taylor, taxi-cab driver, gave evidence as to driving the prisoner from Hyde Park Corner on the night of the 18th of August and the finding of the glove.
Crewe went into the witness-box and swore that on the second day after the discovery of the murder he was present at Riversbrook when the prisoner visited the house and saw Miss Fewbanks. When the prisoner arrived he was not carrying a walking-stick, but he had one in his hand when he took his departure from the house. Witness followed the prisoner, and a boy who collided with the prisoner knocked the stick out of his hands. Witness picked up the stick and inspected it. He identified the stick produced in court as the one which the prisoner had been carrying on that day.
The most difficult, and most important witness, as far as new evidence was concerned was Alexander Saunders, a big, broad red-faced Scotchman, whose firm grasp on the tam-o'-shanter he held in his hand seemed to indicate a fear that all the pickpockets in London had designs on it. With great difficulty he was made to understand his part in the witness-box, and some of the questions had to be repeated several times before he could grasp their meaning. Mr. Lethbridge humorously suggested that his learned friend should have provided an interpreter so that his pure English might be translated into Lowland Scotch.
By slow degrees Saunders was able to explain how he had found the pocket-book which Sir Horace Fewbanks had lost while shooting at Craigleith Hall. Witness identified a letter produced as having been in the pocket-book when he found it. The letter, which had been written by the prisoner to Sir Horace Fewbanks, urged Sir Horace to return to London at once, as if he did so there was a good possibility of his obtaining promotion to the Court of Appeal. The writer promised to do all he could in the matter, and to call on Sir Horace at Riversbrook as soon as he returned from Scotland.
Percival Chambers, an elderly well-dressed man with a grey beard, and wearing glasses, who was secretary of the Master of Rolls, swore that he knew of no prospective vacancies on the Court of Appeal Bench. Were any vacancies of the kind in view he believed he would be aware of them.
This closed the case for the police, and Mr. Lethbridge immediately asked for the discharge of the prisoner on the ground that there was no case to go before a jury. The magistrate shook his head, and merely asked Mr. Lethbridge if he intended to reserve his defence. Mr. Lethbridge replied with a nod, and the accused was formally committed for trial at the next sittings at the Old Bailey.
The newspapers reported at great length the evidence given in the police court, and their reports were eagerly read by a sensation-loving public. Even those people who, when Holymead's arrest was announced, had ridiculed the idea of a man like Holymead murdering a lifelong friend, had to admit that the police had collected some damaging evidence. Those people who at the time of the arrest had prided themselves on possessing an open mind as to the guilt of the famous barrister, confessed after reading the police court evidence that there could be little doubt of his guilt. The only thing that was missing from the police court proceedings was the production of a motive for the crime, but it was whispered that there would be some interesting revelations on this point when the prisoner was tried at the Old Bailey.
Fortunately he had not long to wait for his trial, as the next sittings of the Central Criminal Court had previously been fixed a week ahead of the date of his commitment. That week was full of anxiety for Mr. Lethbridge, for he realised that he had a poor case. What increased his anxiety was the fact that Holymead insisted on the defence being conducted on the lines he laid down. It was a new thing in Lethbridge's experience to accept such instructions from a prisoner, but Holymead had threatened to dispense with all assistance unless his instructions were carried out. He was particularly anxious that his wife's name should be kept out of court as much as possible. Lethbridge had pointed out to him that the prosecution would be sure to drag it in at the trial in suggesting a motive for the murder, and that for the purposes of the defence it was best to have a full and frank disclosure of everything so that an appeal could be made to the jury's feelings. Holymead's beautiful wife, who was almost distracted by her husband's position, implored his Counsel to allow her to go into the box and make a confession. But that course did not commend itself to Lethbridge, who realised that she would make an extremely bad witness and would but help to put the rope round her husband's neck. He put her off by declaring that there was a good prospect of her husband being acquitted, but that if the verdict unfortunately went against him her confession would have more weight in saving him, when the appeal against the verdict was heard.
It amazed Lethbridge to find that the prisoner expressed the view that Birchill had committed the murder. This view was based on his contention that Sir Horace Fewbanks was alive when he (Holymead) left him about ten o'clock. The interview between them had been an angry one, but Holymead persisted in asserting that he had not shot his former friend. He declared that he had not taken a revolver with him when he went to Riversbrook.
Lethbridge was one of those barristers who believe that a knowledge of the guilt of a client handicapped Counsel in defending him. He had his private opinion as to the result of the angry interview between Holymead and Sir Horace Fewbanks, but he preferred that Holymead should protest his innocence even to him. That made it easier for him to make a stirring appeal to the jury than it would have been if his client had fully confessed to him. His private opinion as to the author of the crime was strengthened by Holymead's admission that Birchill had not confessed to him or to his solicitor at the time of his trial that he had shot Sir Horace Fewbanks. He was astonished that Holymead had taken up Birchill's defence, but Holymead's explanation was the somewhat extraordinary one that the man who had killed the seducer of his wife had done him a service by solving a problem that had seemed insoluble without a public scandal. There was no doubt that although Sir Horace Fewbanks was in his grave, Holymead's hatred of him for his betrayal of his wife burned as strongly as when he had made the discovery that wrecked his home life. Neither death nor time could dim the impression, nor lessen his hatred for the dead man who had once been his closest friend.
Lethbridge, feeling that it was his duty as Counsel for the prisoner to try every avenue which might help to an acquittal, asked Mr. Tomlinson, the solicitor who was instructing him in the case, to find Birchill and bring him to his chambers. Birchill was found and kept an appointment. Lethbridge explained to him that he had nothing further to fear from the police with regard to the murder of Sir Horace Fewbanks. Having been acquitted on this charge he could not be tried on it again, no matter what discoveries were made. He could not even be tried for perjury, as he had not gone into the witness-box. Having allowed these facts to sink home, he delicately suggested to Birchill that he ought to come forward as a witness for the defence of Holymead—he ought to do his best to try and save the life of the man who had saved his life.
"What do you want me to swear?" asked Birchill, in a tone which indicated that although he did not object to committing perjury, he wanted to know how far he was to go.
"Well, that Sir Horace Fewbanks was alive when you went to Riversbrook," suggested Lethbridge.
"But I tell you he was dead," protested Birchill. He seemed to think that reviving a dead man was beyond even the power of perjury.
"That was your original story, I know," agreed Lethbridge suavely. "But as you were not put into the witness-box to swear it you can alter it without fear of any consequences."
"You want me to swear that he was alive?" said Birchill, meditatively.
"If you can conscientiously do so," replied Lethbridge.
"That he was alive when I left Riversbrook?" asked Birchill.
"Well, not necessarily that," said Lethbridge.
Birchill sprang up in alarm.
"Good God, do you want me to swear that I killed him?" he demanded.
Lethbridge endeavoured to explain that he would have nothing to fear from such a confession in the witness-box, but Birchill would listen to no further explanations. He felt that he was in dangerous company, and that his safety depended on getting out of the room.
"You've made a mistake," he said, as he reached the door. "If you want a witness of that kind you ought to look for him in Colney Hatch."
The impending trial of Holymead produced almost as much excitement in staid legal circles as it did among the general public. It was rumoured that there was a difficulty in obtaining a judge to preside at the trial, as they all objected to being placed in the position of trying a man who was well-known to them and with whom most of them had been on friendly terms. There was a great deal of sympathy for the prisoner among the judges. Of course, they could not admit that any man had the right to take the law into his own hands, but they realised that if any wrong done to an individual could justify this course it was the wrong Sir Horace Fewbanks had done to an old friend.
When it became known that Mr. Justice Hodson was to preside at the Old Bailey during the trial of Holymead, legal rumour concerned itself with statements to the effect that there was now a difficulty in obtaining a K.C. to undertake the prosecution. When it was discovered that Mr. Walters, K.C., was to conduct the prosecution, it was whispered that he had asked to be relieved of the work and had even waited on the Attorney-General in the matter, but that the latter had told him that he must put his personal feelings aside and act in accordance with that high sense of duty he had always shown in his professional career.
In Newgate Street a long queue of people waited for admission to Old Bailey on the day the trial was to begin. They were inspected by two fat policemen to decide whether they appeared respectable enough to be entitled to a free seat at the entertainment in Number One Court. When the doors opened at 10.15 a.m. the first batch of them were admitted, but on reaching the top of the stairs, where they were inspected by a sergeant, they were informed that all the seats in the gallery of Number One Court had been filled, but that he would graciously permit them to go to Numbers Two, Three, Four, or Five Courts. Those who were not satisfied with this generosity could get out the way they had come in and be quick about it. What the sergeant did not explain was that so many people with social influence had applied to the presiding judge for permission to be present at the trial that it had been found necessary to reserve the gallery for them as well as most of the seats in the body of the court. Fashionably-dressed ladies and well-groomed men drove up to the main entrance of the Old Bailey in motors and taxi-cabs. The scene was as busy as the scene outside a West End theatre on a first night. The services of several policemen were necessary to regulate the arrival and departure of taxi-cabs and motor-cars and to keep back the staring mob of disappointed people who had been refused admission to the court by the fat sergeant, but were determined to see as much as they could before they went away. Elderly ladies and young ladies were assisted from smart motor-cars by their escorts, and greeted their friends with feminine fervour. Some of the younger ones exchanged whispered regrets, as they swept into the court, that such a fine-looking man as Holymead should have got himself into such a terrible predicament.
The legal profession was numerously represented among the spectators in the body of the court. So many distinguished members of the profession had applied for tickets of admission that there was little room for members of the junior bar. It was many years since a trial had created so much interest in legal circles. When Mr. Justice Hodson entered the court, followed by no fewer than eight of the Sheriffs of London, those present in the court rose. The members of the profession bowed slowly in the direction of His Honour. The prisoner was brought into the dock from below, and took the seat that was given to him beside one of the two warders who remained in the dock with him. He looked a little careworn, as though with sleepless nights, but his strong, clean-shaven face was as resolute as ever, and betrayed nothing of the mental agony which he endured. His keen dark eyes glanced quietly through the court, and though many members of the bar smiled at him when they thought they had caught his eye, he gave no smile in return. As he looked at Mr. Justice Hodson, the distinguished judge inclined his head to what was almost a nod of recognition, but the prisoner looked calmly at the judge as though he had never seen him before and had never been inside a court in his life till then.
Among those persons standing in the body of the court were Crewe and Inspector Chippenfield and Detective Rolfe. Inspector Chippenfield displayed so much friendliness to Crewe as he drew his attention to the number of celebrities in court that it was evident he had buried for the time being his professional enmity. This was because Crewe had allowed him to appropriate some of the credit of unravelling Holymead's connection with the crime. As the jury were being sworn in Crewe and Chippenfield made their way out of court into the corridor. As they were to be called as witnesses they would not be allowed in court until after they had given their evidence.
Mr. Walters in his opening address paid tribute to the exceptional circumstances of the case by some slight show of nervousness. Several times he insisted that the case was what he termed unique. The prisoner in the dock was a man who by his distinguished abilities had won for himself a leading position at the bar, and had been honoured and respected by all who knew him. It was not the first occasion that a member of the legal profession had been placed on trial on a capital charge, though he was glad to say, for the honour of the profession, that cases of the kind were extremely rare. But what made the case unique was that it was not the first trial in connection with the murder of Sir Horace Fewbanks, and that at the first trial when a man named Frederick Birchill had been placed in the dock, the prisoner now before the court had appeared as defending Counsel, and by his brilliant conduct of the defence had materially contributed to the verdict of acquittal which had been brought in by the jury. Some evidence would be placed before the jury about the first trial and the conduct of the defence. He ventured to assert that the jury would find in this evidence some damaging facts against the prisoner—that they would find a clear indication that the prisoner had defended Birchill because he knew himself to be guilty of this murder, and felt an obligation on him to place his legal knowledge and forensic powers at the disposal of a man whom he knew to be innocent. At the former trial the prisoner, as Counsel for the defence, had attempted to throw suspicion on a man named Hill, who had been butler to the late Sir Horace Fewbanks, but evidence would be placed before the jury to show that in doing so the prisoner had been smitten by some pangs of conscience at casting suspicion on a man who he knew was not guilty.
It was not incumbent on the prosecution to prove a motive for the murder, continued Mr. Walters, though where the motive was plainly proved the case against the prisoner was naturally strengthened. In this case there was no doubt about the motive, but the extent of the evidence to be placed before the jury under that head would depend upon the defence. The prosecution would submit some evidence on the point, but the full story could only be told if the defence placed the wife of the prisoner in the witness-box. It was impossible for the prosecution to call her as a witness, as English law prevented a wife giving evidence against her husband. She could, however, give evidence in favour of her husband, and doubtless the defence would take full advantage of the privilege of calling her.
The evidence which he intended to call would show that for years past very friendly relations had existed between the prisoner and the murdered man. They had been at Cambridge together and had studied law together in chambers. Their friendship continued after their marriages. The prisoner had married a second time, and at that time Sir Horace Fewbanks was a widower. Sir Horace Fewbanks was what was known as a ladies' man, and at the previous trial prisoner, as defending Counsel, had tried to bring out that Sir Horace was a man of immoral reputation among women. There was no doubt that the prisoner, during Sir Horace's absence in Scotland, became convinced that Sir Horace had been paying attention to his wife. There was no doubt that, being a man of a jealous disposition, his suspicions went beyond that. At any rate he wrote a letter to Sir Horace at Craigleith Hall, where the latter was shooting, asking him to come to London at once. In order to induce Sir Horace to return, and in order not to arouse suspicion as to his real object, he concocted a story about a vacancy in the Court of Appeal Bench to which, it appeared, Sir Horace Fewbanks desired to be appointed. In this letter, which would be produced in evidence, the prisoner pretended to be working in Sir Horace's interests, and offered to meet him on the night of his return at Riversbrook and let him know fully how matters stood. Sir Horace apparently wrote to the prisoner making an appointment with him for the night of the 18th of August. The prisoner kept that appointment, charged Sir Horace with carrying on an intrigue with his wife, and then shot him.
"That is the case for the prosecution which I will endeavour to establish to the satisfaction of the jury," said Mr. Walters, in concluding his speech, "Of course it is impossible to produce direct evidence of the actual shooting. But I will produce a silent but indisputable witness in the form of a glove which belonged to the prisoner, that he was present in the room in which the murder took place. I will produce evidence to show that the prisoner left his stick behind in the hat-stand in the hall on the night of the murder. These things prove conclusively that he left Riversbrook in a state of considerable excitement. The fact that after the murder was discovered he kept hidden in his own breast the knowledge that he had been there on that night, instead of going to the police and, in the endeavour to assist them to detect the murderer of his lifelong friend, informing them that he had called on Sir Horace, shows conclusively that he went there on a mission on which he dared not throw the light of day."
Those witnesses who had given evidence at the police court were called and repeated their statements. Inspector Seldon was closely cross-examined by Mr. Lethbridge as to the way in which the dead body was dressed when he discovered it. He declared that Sir Horace had been wearing a light lounge suit of grey colour, a silk shirt, wing collar and black bow tie. Dr. Slingsby's cross-examination was directed to ascertaining as near as possible the time when the murder was committed, but this was a point on which the witness allowed himself to be irritatingly indefinite. The murder might have taken place three or four hours before midnight on the 18th of August, and on the other hand it might have taken place any time up to three or four hours after midnight.
Hill, who had not been available as a witness at the police court—being then on the way back from America in response to a cablegram from Crewe—reappeared as a witness. He looked much more at ease in the witness-box than on the occasion when he gave evidence against Birchill. He had fully recovered from his terror of being arrested for the murder, and obviously had much satisfaction in giving evidence against the man who, according to his impression, had tried to bring the crime home to him.
He gave evidence as to the unexpected return of his master from Scotland on the 18th of August, and also in regard to the relations between his master and Mrs. Holymead. On several occasions he had seen his master kiss Mrs. Holymead, and once he had heard the door of the room in which they were together being locked.
Two new witnesses were called to testify to the suggestion of the prosecution that illicit relations had existed between Sir Horace Fewbanks and Mrs. Holymead. These were Philip Williams, who had been the dead man's chauffeur, and Dorothy Mason, who had been housemaid at Riversbrook. The chauffeur gave evidence as to meeting Mrs. Holymead's car at various places in the country. He formed the opinion from the first that these meetings between Sir Horace and the lady were not accidental.
The last of the prosecution's witnesses was the legal shorthand writer who had taken the official report of the trial of Birchill. In response to the request of Mr. Walters, he read from his notebook the final passage in the opening address delivered by the prisoner at that trial as defending Counsel: "'It is my duty to convince you that my client is not guilty, or, in other words, to convince you that the murder was committed before he reached the house. It is only with the greatest reluctance that I take upon myself the responsibility of pointing an accusing finger at another man. In crimes of this kind you cannot expect to get anything but circumstantial evidence. But there are degrees of circumstantial evidence, and my duty to my client lays upon me the obligation of pointing out to you that there is one person against whom the existing circumstantial evidence is stronger than it is against my client.'"
Mr. Lethbridge was unexpectedly brief in his opening address. He ridiculed the idea that a man like the prisoner, trained in the atmosphere of the law, would take the law into his own hands in seeking revenge for a wrong that had been done to him. According to the prosecution the prisoner had calmly and deliberately carried out this murder. He had sent a letter to Sir Horace Fewbanks with the object of inducing him to return to London, and had subsequently gone to Riversbrook and shot the man who had been his lifelong friend. Could anything be more improbable than to suppose that a man of the accused's training, intellect, and force of character, would be swayed by a gust of passion into committing such a dreadful crime like an immature ignorant youth of unbalanced temperament? The discovery that his wife and his friend were carrying on an intrigue would be more likely to fill him with disgust than inspire him with murderous rage. He would not deny that accused had gone up to Riversbrook a few hours after Sir Horace Fewbanks returned from Scotland; he would admit that when the accused sought this interview he knew that his quondam friend had done him the greatest wrong one man could do another; but he emphatically denied that the prisoner killed Sir Horace Fewbanks or threatened to take his life.
His learned friend had asked why had not the prisoner gone to the police after the murder was discovered and told them that he had seen Sir Horace at Riversbrook that night. The answer to that was clear and emphatic. He did not want to take the police into his confidence with regard to the relations that had existed between his wife and the dead man. He wanted to save his wife's name from scandal. Was not that a natural impulse for a high-minded man? The prisoner had believed that in due course the police would discover the actual murderer, and that in the meantime the scandal which threatened his wife's name would be buried with the man who had wronged her. If the prisoner could have prevented it his wife's name would not have been dragged into this case even for the purpose of saving himself from injustice. But the prosecution, in order to establish a motive for the crime, had dragged this scandal into light. He did not blame the prosecution in the least for that. In fact he was grateful to his learned friend for doing so, for it had released him from a promise extracted from him by the prisoner not to make any use of the matter in his conduct of the case. The defence was that, although the accused man had gone to Riversbrook on the night of the 18th of August to accuse Sir Horace Fewbanks of base treachery, he went there unarmed, and with no intention of committing violence. No threats were used and no shot was fired during the interview. And in proof of the latter contention he intended to call witnesses to prove that Sir Horace Fewbanks was alive after the prisoner had left the house.
The name of Daniel Kemp was loudly called by the ushers, and when Kemp crossed the court on the way to the witness-box, Chippenfield and Crewe, who had returned to the court after giving their evidence, looked at one another.
"He's a dead man," whispered Chippenfield, nodding his head towards the prisoner, "if this is a sample of their witnesses."
Kemp had brushed himself up for his appearance in the witness-box. He wore a new ready-made tweed suit; his thick neck was encased in a white linen collar which he kept fingering with one hand as though trying to loosen it for his greater comfort; and his hair had been plastered flat on his head with plenty of cold water. His red and scratched chin further indicated that he had taken considerable pains with a razor to improve his personal appearance in keeping with his unwonted part of a respectable witness in a place which knew a more sinister side of him. As he stood in the witness-box, awkwardly avoiding the significant glances that the Scotland Yard men and the police cast at him, he appeared to be more nervous and anxious than he usually was when in the dock. But Crewe, who was watching him closely, was struck by the look of dog-like devotion he hurriedly cast at the weary face of the man in the dock before he commenced to give his evidence.
He told the court a remarkable story. He declared that Birchill had told him on the 16th of August that he had a job on at Riversbrook, and had asked him to join him in it. When Birchill explained the details witness declined to have a hand in it. He did not like these put-up jobs.
Mr. Lethbridge interposed to explain to any particularly unsophisticated jurymen that "a put-up job" meant a burglary that had been arranged with the connivance of a servant in the house to be broken into.
Kemp declared that the reason he had declined to have anything to do with the project to burgle Riversbrook was that he felt sure Hill would squeak if the police threatened him when they came to investigate the burglary. He happened to be at Hampstead on the evening of the 18th of August and he took a walk along Tanton Gardens to have another look at the place which Birchill was to break into. It had occurred to him that things might not be square, and that Hill might have laid a trap for Birchill. That was about 9.30 p.m. He was just able to catch a glimpse of the house through the plantation in front of it. The mansion appeared all in darkness, but while he looked he was surprised to see a light appear in the upper portion of the house which was visible from the road. He went through the carriage gates with the intention of getting a closer view of the house. As he walked along he heard a quick footstep on the gravel walk behind him, and he slipped into the plantation. Looking out from behind a tree he could discern the figure of a man walking quickly towards the house. As he drew near him the man paused, struck a match and looked at his watch, and he saw that it was Mr. Holymead. Witness's suspicions in regard to a trap having been laid for Birchill were strengthened, and he decided to ascertain what was in the wind. He crept through the plantation to the edge of the garden in front of the house. From there he could hear voices in a room upstairs. He tried to make out what was being said, but he was too far away for that. In about half an hour the voices stopped, and a minute later a man came out of the house and walked down the path through the garden, and entered the carriage drive close to where witness was concealed in the plantation. As he passed him witness saw that it was Mr. Holymead.
About five minutes afterwards the window upstairs in the room where the voices had come from was opened, and Sir Horace Fewbanks leaned out and looked at the sky as if to ascertain what sort of a night it was. He was quite certain that it was Sir Horace Fewbanks. He was well acquainted with that gentleman's features, having been sentenced by him three years ago. Sir Horace seemed quite calm and collected. Witness was so surprised to see him, after having been told by Birchill that he was in Scotland, that he did not take his eyes off him during the two or three minutes that he remained at the window, breathing the night air. Sir Horace was fully dressed. He had on a light tweed suit, and he was wearing a soft shirt of a light colour, with a stiff collar, and a small black bow tie. When Sir Horace closed the window witness jumped over the fence back into the wood and made his way to the Hampstead Tube station with the intention of warning Birchill that Sir Horace Fewbanks was at home. He waited at the station over an hour, and as he did not see Birchill he then made his way home. During the time he was in the garden at Riversbrook listening to the voices, he heard no sound of a shot. He was certain that no shot had been fired inside the house from the time the prisoner entered the house until he left. Had a shot been fired witness could not have failed to hear it.
There could be no doubt that the effect produced in court by the evidence of the witness was extremely favourable to the prisoner. Kemp had told a plain, straightforward story. The fact that he had shown no reluctance in disclosing in his evidence that he was a criminal and the associate of criminals seemed to add to the credibility of his evidence. It was felt that he would not have come to court to swear falsely on behalf of a man who was so far removed from the class to which he belonged.
While Kemp was giving his evidence, Crewe had despatched a messenger to his chambers in Holborn for Joe. When the boy returned with the messenger Kemp was still in the witness-box, undergoing an examination at the hands of the judge. Sir Henry Hodson seemed to have been impressed by the witness's story, for he asked Kemp a number of questions, and entered his answers in his notebook.
"Joe," whispered Crewe, as the boy stole noiselessly behind him, "look at that man in the witness-box. Have you ever seen him before?"
"Rayther, guv'nor!" whispered the boy in reply. "Why, it's 'im who tried to frighten me in the loft if I didn't promise to give up watching Mr. Holymead."
"You are quite certain, Joe?"
"Certain sure, guv'nor. There ain't no charnst of me mistaking a man like that."
Crewe listened intently to Kemp's evidence, and he watched the man's face as he swore that he had seen Sir Horace Fewbanks leaning out of the window after Holymead had left the house. He hastily took out a notebook, scribbled a few lines on one of the leaves, tore it out, and beckoned to a court usher.
"Take that to Mr. Walters," he whispered.
The man did so. Mr. Walters opened the note, adjusted his glasses and read it. He started with surprise, read the note through again, then turned round as though in search of the writer. When he saw Crewe he raised his eyebrows interrogatively, and the detective nodded emphatically.
Mr. Lethbridge sat down, having finished his examination of Kemp. Mr.Walters, with another glance at Crewe's note, rose slowly in his place.
"I ask Your Honour that I may be allowed to defer until the morning my cross-examination of this witness," he said. "I am, of course, in Your Honour's hands in this matter, but I can assure Your Honour that it is desirable—highly desirable—in the interests of justice that the cross-examination of the witness should be postponed."
"I protest, Your Honour, against the cross-examination of the witness being deferred," said Mr. Lethbridge. "There is no justification of it."
"I would urge Your Honour to accede to my request," said Mr. Walters. "It is a matter of the utmost importance."
"Is your next witness available, Mr. Lethbridge?" asked the judge.
"Surely, Your Honour, you're not going to allow the cross-examination of this witness to be postponed?" protested Mr. Lethbridge. "My learned friend has given no reason for such a course."
Sir Henry Hodson looked at the court clock.
"It is now within a quarter of an hour of the ordinary time for adjournment," he began. "I think the fairest way out of the difficulty will be to adjourn the court now until to-morrow morning."
There was a loud buzz of conversation when the court adjourned. After asking Chippenfield and Rolfe to wait for him, Crewe made his way to Mr. Walters, and, after a few whispered words with that gentleman, Mr. Mathers, his junior, and Mr. Salter, the instructing solicitor, he returned to Chippenfield and Rolfe and asked them to accompany him in a taxi-cab to Riversbrook.
"What do you want to go out there for?" asked Inspector Chippenfield. "You don't expect to discover anything there this late in the day, do you?"
"I want to find out whether this man Kemp is lying or telling the truth."
"Of course he is lying," replied the positive police official. "When you've had as much experience with criminals as I have had, Mr. Crewe, you won't expect a word of truth from any of them."
"Well, let us go to Riversbrook and prove that he is lying," said Crewe.
"We'll go with you," said Inspector Chippenfield, speaking for Rolfe and himself. He did not understand how Crewe expected to obtain any evidence at Riversbrook about the truth or falsity of Kemp's story, but he did not intend to admit that. "But you can set your mind at rest. No jury will believe Kemp after we've given them his record in cross-examination."
Rolfe, whose association with Crewe in the case had awakened in him a keen admiration for the private detective's methods and abilities, permitted himself to defy his superior officer to the extent of saying that "the best way to prove Kemp a liar is to prove that his story is false."
During the drive to Hampstead from the Old Bailey the three men discussed Kemp and his past record. It was recalled that less than twelve months ago, while he was serving three years for burglary, his daughter had provided the newspapers with a sensation by dying in the dock while sentence was being passed on her. According to Inspector Chippenfield, who had been in charge of the case against her, she was a stylish, good-looking girl, and when dressed up might easily have been mistaken for a lady.
"She got in touch with a flash gang of railway thieves from America," said Inspector Chippenfield, helping himself to a cigar from Crewe's proffered case. "They used to work the express trains, robbing the passengers in the sleeping berths. She was neatly caught at Victoria Station in calling for a dressing-case that had been left at the cloak room by one of the gang. Inside the dressing-case was Lady Sinclair's jewel case, which had been stolen on the journey up from Brighton. The thief, being afraid that he might be stopped at Victoria Station when the loss of the jewel case was discovered, had placed it inside his dressing-case, and had left the dressing-case at the cloak room. He sent Dora Kemp for it a few days later, as he believed he had outwitted the police. But I'd got on to the track of the jewels, and after removing them from the dressing-case in the cloak room I had the cloak room watched. When Dora Kemp called for the dressing-case and handed in the cloakroom ticket, the attendant gave my men the signal and she was arrested."
"She died of heart disease while on trial, didn't she?" asked Crewe.
"Yes," replied Inspector Chippenfield. "Sir Horace Fewbanks was the judge. He gave her five years. And no sooner were the words out of his mouth than she threw up her hands and fell forward in the dock. She was dead when they picked her up."
"She was as game as they make them," put in Rolfe. "We tried to get her to give the others away, but she wouldn't, though she would have got off with a few months if she had. The gang got frightened and cleared out. They left her in the lurch, but she wouldn't give one of them away."
"It was Holymead who defended her," said Chippenfield. "It was a strange thing for him to do—leading barristers don't like touching criminal cases, because, as a rule, there is little money and less credit to be got out of them. But Holymead did some queer things at times, as you know. He must have taken up the case out of interest in the girl herself, for I'm certain she hadn't the money to brief him. And I did hear afterwards that Holymead undertook to see that she was decently buried."
"Why, that explains it!" exclaims Crewe, in the voice of a man who had solved a difficulty.
"Explains what?" asked Inspector Chippenfield.
"Explains why her father has taken the risk of coming forward in this case to give evidence for Holymead. Gratitude for what Holymead had done for his girl while he was in prison. My experience of criminals is that they frequently show more real gratitude to those who do them a good turn than people in a respectable walk of life. Besides, you know what a sentimental value people of his class attach to seeing their kin buried decently. If Holymead hadn't come forward the girl would have been buried as a pauper, in all probability."
"But I don't see that old Kemp is taking much risk," said Inspector Chippenfield. "He is only perjuring himself, and he is too used to that to regard it as a risk."
"Don't you think he will be in an awkward position if the jury were to acquit Holymead?" asked Crewe. "One jury has already said that Sir Horace Fewbanks was dead when Birchill broke into the house, and if this jury believes Kemp's story and says Sir Horace was alive when Holymead left it, don't you think Kemp will conclude that it will be best for him to disappear? Some one must have killed Sir Horace after Holymead left, and before Birchill arrived."
"Whew! I never thought of that," said Rolfe candidly.
"Kemp is a liar from first to last," said Inspector Chippenfield decisively.
When they reached Riversbrook they entered the carriage drive and traversed the plantation until they stood on the edge of the Italian garden facing the house. The gaunt, irregular mansion stood empty and deserted, for Miss Fewbanks had left the place after her father's funeral, with the determination not to return to it. The wind whistled drearily through the nooks and crannies of the unfinished brickwork of the upper story, and a faint evening mist rose from the soddened garden and floated in a thin cloud past the library window, as though the ghost of the dead judge were revisiting the house in search of his murderer. The garden had lost its summer beauty and was littered with dead leaves from the trees. The gathering greyness of an autumn twilight added to the dreariness of the scene.
"Kemp didn't say how far he stood from the house," said Crewe, "but we'll assume he stood at the edge of the plantation—about where we are standing now—to begin with. How far are we from that library window, Chippenfield?"
"About fifty yards, I should say," said the inspector, measuring it with his eye.
"I should say seventy," said Rolfe.
"And I say somewhere midway between the two," said Crewe, with a smile. "But we will soon see. Just hold down the end of this measuring tape, one of you." He produced a measuring tape as he spoke, and started to unwind it, walking rapidly towards the house as he did so. "Sixty-two yards!" he said, as he returned. He made a note of the distance in his pocket-book. "So much for that," he said, "but that's not enough. I want you to stand under the library window, Rolfe, by that chestnut-tree in front of it, and act as pivot for the measuring tape while I look at that window from various angles. My idea is to go in a semicircle right round the garden, starting at the garage by the edge of the wood, so as to see the library window and measure the distance at every possible point at which Kemp could have stood."
"You're going to a lot of trouble for nothing, if your object is to try and prove that he couldn't have seen into the window," grunted Inspector Chippenfield, in a mystified voice. "Why, I can see plainly into the window from here."
Crewe smiled, but did not reply. Followed by Rolfe, he went back to the tree by the library window, where he posted Rolfe with the end of the tape in his hand. Then he walked slowly back across the garden in the direction of the garage, keeping his eye on the library window on the first floor from which Kemp, according to his evidence, had seen Sir Horace leaning out after Holymead had left the house. He returned to the tree, noting the measurement in his book as he did so, and then repeated the process, walking backwards with his eye fixed on the window, but this time taking a line more to the left. Again and again he repeated the process, until finally he had walked backwards from the tree in narrow segments of a big semicircle, finishing up on the boundary of the Italian garden on the other side of the grounds, and almost directly opposite to the garage from which he had started.
"There's no use going further back than that," he said, turning to Inspector Chippenfield, who had followed him round, smoking one of Crewe's cigars, and very much mystified by the whole proceedings, though he would not have admitted it on any account. "At this point we practically lose sight of the window altogether, except for an oblique glimpse. Certainly Kemp would not come as far back as this—he would have no object in doing so."
"I quite agree with you," said Inspector Chippenfield. "He would stand more in the front of the house. The tree in front of the house doesn't obstruct the view of the window to any extent."
The tree to which Inspector Chippenfield referred was a solitary chestnut-tree, which grew close to the house a little distance from the main entrance, and reached to a height of about forty feet. Its branches were entirely bare of leaves, for the autumn frosts and winds had swept the foliage away.
Rolfe, who had been watching Crewe's manoeuvres curiously, walked up to them with the tape in his hand. He glanced at the library window on the first floor as he reached them.
"Kemp could have seen the library window if he had stood here," he said. "I should say that if the blind were up it would be possible to see right into the room."
"What do you say, Chippenfield?" asked Crewe, turning to that officer.
Inspector Chippenfield had taken his stand stolidly on the centre path of the Italian garden, directly in front of the window of the library.
"I say Kemp is a liar," he replied, knocking the ash off his cigar. "A d——d liar," he added emphatically. "I don't believe he was here at all that night."
"But if he was here, do you think he saw Sir Horace leaning out of the window?"
"I don't see what was to prevent him," was the reply. "But my point is that he was a liar and that he wasn't here at all."
"And you, Rolfe—do you think Kemp could have seen Sir Horace leaning out of the window if he had been here?"
"I should say so," remarked Rolfe, in a somewhat puzzled tone.
"I am sorry I cannot agree with either of you," said Crewe. "I think Kemp was here, but I am sure he couldn't have seen Sir Horace from the window. Kemp has been up here during the past few days in order to prepare his evidence, and he's been led astray by a very simple mistake. If a man were to lean outside the library window now there would not be much difficulty in identifying him, but when the murder took place it would have been impossible to see him from any part of the garden or grounds."
"Why?" demanded Inspector Chippenfield.
"Because it was the middle of summer when Sir Horace Fewbanks was murdered. At that time that chestnut-tree would be in full leaf, and the foliage would hide the window completely. Look at the number of branches the tree has! They stretch all over the window and even round the corners of that unfinished brickwork on the first floor by the side of the library window. A man could no more see through that tree in summer time than he could see through a stone wall."
"What did I tell you?" exclaimed Inspector Chippenfield in the voice of a man whose case had been fully proved. "Didn't I say Kemp was a liar? We'll call evidence in rebuttal to prove that he is a liar—that he couldn't have seen the window. And after Holymead is convicted I'll see if I cannot get a warrant out for Kemp for perjury."
"And yet Kemp did see Sir Horace that night," said Crewe quietly.
"How do you know? What makes you say that?" The inspector was unpleasantly startled by Crewe's contention.
"He was able to describe accurately how Sir Horace was dressed—for one thing," responded Crewe.
"He might have got that from Seldon's evidence," said Inspector Chippenfield thoughtfully. "He may have had some one in court to tell him what Seldon said."
"You do not think Lethbridge would be a party to such tactics?" said Crewe. "No, no. One could tell from the way he examined Seldon and Kemp on the point that it was in his brief."
"But the fact that Kemp knew how Sir Horace was dressed doesn't prove that he saw Sir Horace after Holymead left the house," said Rolfe. "Kemp may have seen Sir Horace before Holymead arrived."
"Quite true, Rolfe," said Crewe. "I haven't lost sight of that point. I think you will agree with me that there is a bit of a mystery here which wants clearing up."
They drove back to town, and, in accordance with the arrangement Crewe had made with Mr. Walters before leaving the court, they waited on that gentleman at his chambers in Lincoln's Inn. There Crewe told him of the result of their investigations at Riversbrook. Mr. Walters was professionally pleased at the prospect of destroying the evidence of Kemp. He was not a hard-hearted man, and personally he would have preferred to see Holymead acquitted, if that were possible, but as the prosecuting Counsel he felt a professional satisfaction in being placed in the position to expose perjured evidence.
"Excellent! excellent!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands with gratification as he spoke. "Knowing what we know now, it will be a comparatively easy task to expose the witness Kemp under cross-examination, and show his evidence to be false." Mr. Walters looked as though he relished the prospect.
It was arranged that Inspector Chippenfield should be called to give evidence in rebuttal as to the impossibility of seeing the library window through the tree, and that an arboriculturist should also be called. Mr. Walters agreed to have the expert in attendance at the court in the morning.
But Crewe had something more on his mind, and he waited until Chippenfield and Rolfe had taken their departure in order to put his views before the prosecuting counsel. Then he pointed out to him that to prove that Kemp's evidence was false was merely to obtain a negative result. What he wanted was a positive result. In other words, he wanted Kemp's true story.
"You do not think, then, that Kemp is merely committing perjury in order to get Holymead off?" asked Walters meditatively. "You think he is hiding something?"
Crewe replied, with his faint, inscrutable smile, that he had no doubt whatever that such was the case. He thought Kemp's true story might be obtained if Walters directed his cross-examination to obtaining the truth instead of merely to exposing falsehood. It was evident to him that Kemp had come forward in order to save the prisoner. How far was he prepared to go in carrying out that object? When he was made to realise that his perjury, instead of helping Holymead, had helped to convince the jury of the prisoner's guilt, would he tell the true story of how much he knew?
"My own opinion is that he will," continued Crewe. "I studied his face very closely while he was in the box to-day, and I am convinced he would go far—even to telling the truth—in order to save the only man who was ever kind to him."
Walters was slow in coming round to Crewe's point of view. He had a high opinion of Crewe, for in his association with the case he had realised how skilfully Crewe had worked out the solution of the Riversbrook mystery. But he took the view that now the case was before the court it was entirely a matter for the legal profession to deal with. He pointed out to Crewe the professional view that his own duty did not extend beyond the exposure of Kemp's perjury. It was not his duty to give Kemp a second chance—an opportunity to qualify his evidence. He believed the defence had called Kemp in the belief that his evidence was true, but the defence must take the consequences if they built up their case on perjured evidence which they had not taken the trouble to sift.
Crewe entered into the professional view sympathetically, but he was not to be turned from his purpose. He felt that too much was at stake, and he lifted the discussion out of the atmosphere of professional procedure into that of their common manhood.
"Walters, I know you are not a vain man," he said, earnestly. "A personal triumph in this case means even less to you than it does to me. I have built up what I regard as an overwhelming case against Holymead. But it is based on circumstantial evidence, and I would willingly see the whole thing toppled over if by that means we could get the final truth. This man Kemp knows the truth, and you are in a position in which you can get the truth from him. It may be the last chance anyone will have of getting it. Apart from all questions of professional procedure, isn't there an obligation upon you to get at the truth?"
"If you put it that way, I believe there is," replied Walters slowly and meditatively. There was a pause, and then he spoke with a sudden impulse. "Yes, Crewe; you can depend on me. I'll do my best."
The public interest in the Holymead trial on the second day was even greater than on the first. It was realised that Kemp's evidence had given an unexpected turn to the proceedings, and that if it could be substantiated the jury's verdict would be "not guilty." There were confident persons who insisted that Kemp's evidence was sufficient to acquit the prisoner. But every one grasped the fact that the Counsel for the prosecution, by his action in applying for an adjournment of the cross-examination of Kemp, clearly realised that his case was in danger if the evidence of the first witness for the defence could not be broken down.
The public appetite for sensation having been whetted by sensational newspaper reports of the latest phase of the Riversbrook mystery, there was a great rush of people to the Old Bailey early on the morning of the second day to witness the final stages of the trial. The queue in Newgate Street commenced to assemble at daybreak, and grew longer and longer as the day wore on, but it was composed of persons who did not know that there was not the slightest possibility of their gaining admittance to Number One Court. The policeman who was invested with the duty of keeping the queue close to the wall of the building forbore to break this sad news to them. Being faithful to the limitations of the official mind, he believed that the right thing to do was to let the people in the queue receive this important information from the sergeant inside. How was he to know without authority from his superior officer that any of these people wanted to be admitted to Number One Court? So the policeman pared his nails, gallantly "minding" the places of pretty girls in the queue who, worn out by hours of waiting in the cold, desired to slip away to a neighbouring tea-shop to get a cup of tea before the court opened, and sternly rebuking enterprising youths who endeavoured to wedge themselves in ahead of their proper place.
The body of the court was packed before the proceedings commenced. The number of ladies present was even greater than on the first day, and the resources of the ushers were severely taxed to find accommodation for them all. In the back row Crewe noticed Mrs. Holymead, accompanied by Mademoiselle Chiron. They had not been in court on the previous day. Mrs. Holymead seemed anxious to escape notice, but Crewe could see that although she looked anxious and distressed, she was buoyed up by a new hope, which doubtless had come to her since Kemp had given his evidence.
There was an expectant silence in the court when Mr. Justice Hodson took his seat and the names of the jurymen were called over. Kemp entered the witness-box with a more confident air than he had worn the previous day. Mr. Walters rose to begin his cross-examination, and the witness faced the barrister with the air of an old hand who knew the game, and was not to be caught by any legal tricks or traps.
"You said yesterday, witness," commenced Mr. Walters, adjusting his glasses and glancing from his brief to the witness and from the witness back to the brief again, "that you saw the prisoner enter the gate at Riversbrook about 9.30 on the night of the 18th of August?"
"Yes." The monosyllable was flung out as insolently as possible. The speaker watched his interrogator with the lowering eyes of a man at war with society, and who realised that he was facing one of his natural enemies.
"Did he see you?"
"No."
"You are quite sure of that?"
"Haven't I just said so?"
"Do not be insolent, witness"—it was the judge's warning voice that broke into the cross-examination—"answer the questions."
"How long was it after the prisoner entered the carriage drive that you went to the edge of the plantation and heard voices upstairs?" continued Mr. Walters.
"I went as soon as Mr. Holymead passed me."
"How far were you from the house?"
"About sixty yards."
"And from that distance you could hear the voices?"
"Yes."
"Plainly?"
"Not very. I could hear the voices, but I couldn't hear what they were saying."
"Were they angry voices?"
"They seemed to me to be talking loudly."
"Yet you couldn't hear what they were saying?"
"No; I was sixty yards away."
"You said in your evidence in chief that the talking continued half an hour. Did you time it?"
"No."
"Then what made you swear that?"
"I said about half an hour. I smoked out a pipeful of tobacco while I was standing there, and that would be about half an hour." Kemp disclosed his broken teeth in a faint grin.
"What happened next?"
"I heard the front door slam, and I saw somebody walking across the garden, and go into the carriage drive towards the gate."
"Did you recognise who it was?"
"Yes; Mr. Holymead." Kemp looked at the prisoner as he gave the answer.
"You swear it was the prisoner?"
"I do."
"Let me recall your evidence in chief, witness. You swore that you identified Mr. Holymead as he went in because he struck a match to look at the time as he passed you, and you saw his face. Did he strike matches as he went out?"
"No."
"Then how are you able to swear so positively as to his identity in the dark?"
Kemp considered a moment before replying.
"Because I know him well and I was close to him," he said at length. "I was close enough to him almost to touch him. I knew him by his walk, and by the look of him. It was him right enough, I'll swear to that."
"I put it to you, witness," persisted Counsel, "that you could not positively identify a man in a plantation at that time of night. Do you still swear it was Mr. Holymead?"
"I do," replied Kemp doggedly.
"What did you do then?"
"I stayed where I was."
"What for?"
"I don't know. I didn't have any particular reason. I just stayed there watching."
"Did you think the prisoner might return?"
"No," replied the witness quickly. "Why should I think that?"
"How long did you stay watching the house?"
"It might be a matter of ten minutes more."
"And the prisoner didn't return during that time?"
"No," replied the witness emphatically.
"What did you do after that?"
"I went to the Tube station."
"Prisoner might have returned after you left?"
"I suppose he might," replied the witness reluctantly.
"Well, now, witness, you say you stayed ten minutes after Holymead left, and during that time Sir Horace opened the window and leaned out of it?"
"Yes."
"You saw him distinctly?"
"Yes."
"You are sure it was Sir Horace Fewbanks?"
"Yes."
"Now, witness," said Mr. Walters, suddenly changing his tone to one of more severity than he had previously used, "you have told us that you heard Sir Horace Fewbanks and the prisoner in the library while you stood in the wood by the garage, and that subsequently you saw Sir Horace leaning out of the window after the prisoner had gone. You are quite sure you were able to see and hear all this from where you stood?"
"Yes."
"Are you aware, witness, that there is a large chestnut-tree at the side of the library, in front of the window?"
Kemp considered for a moment.
"Yes," he said.
"And did not that tree obstruct your view of the library window?"
"No."
"Witness," said Mr. Walters solemnly, "listen to me. This tree did not obstruct your view when you went to Riversbrook a week or so ago to decide on the nature of the evidence you would give in this court. It is bare of leaves now, and you could see the library window and even see into the library from where you stood. But I put it to you that on the 18th of August, when this tree was covered with its summer foliage, you could no more have seen the library window behind its branches than you could have seen the inhabitants of Mars. What answer have you got to that, witness?"
There was a slight stir in court—an expression of the feeling of tension among the spectators. Kemp drew the back of his hand across his lips, then moistened his lips with his tongue.
"Come, witness, give me an answer," thundered prosecuting Counsel.
"I tell you I saw him after Mr. Holymead had left," declared Kemp defiantly. His voice had suddenly become hoarse.
To the surprise of the members of the legal profession who were in court, Mr. Walters, instead of pressing home his advantage, switched off to something else.
"I believe you have a feeling of gratitude towards the prisoner?" he asked, in a milder tone.
"I have," said Kemp. His defiant, insolent attitude had suddenly vanished, and he gave the impression of a man who feared that every question contained a trap.
"He did something for a relative of yours which at that time greatly relieved your mind?"
"He did, and I'll never forget it."
"Well, we won't go further into that at present. But it is a fact that you would like to do him a good turn?"
"Yes."
"You came here with the intention of doing him a good turn?"
Kemp considered for a moment before answering:
"Yes."
"You came here with the intention of giving evidence that would get him off?"
"Yes."
"You came here with the intention of committing perjury in order to get him off?" Mr. Walters waited, but there was no reply to the question, and he added, "You see what your perjured evidence has done for him?"
"What has it done?" asked Kemp sullenly.
"It has established the prisoner's guilt beyond all reasonable doubt in the minds of men of common sense. You did not see Sir Horace Fewbanks that night after the prisoner left him. You could not have seen him even if he had leaned out of the window. But your whole story is a lie, because Sir Horace was dead when the prisoner left him."
"He was not," shouted Kemp. "I saw him alive. I saw him as plain as I see you now."
The man in court who was most fascinated by the witness was Crewe. He had watched every movement of Kemp's face, every change in the tone of his voice.
"I wonder what the fool will say next," whispered InspectorChippenfield to Crewe.
"He will tell us how Sir Horace Fewbanks was shot," was Crewe's reply.
Mr. Walters approached a step nearer to the witness-box. "You saw him as plainly as you see me now?" he repeated.
"Yes," declared Kemp, who, it was evident, was labouring under great excitement. "You say I came here to commit perjury if it would get him off." He pointed with a dramatic finger to the man in the dock. "I did. And I came here to get him off by telling the truth if perjury didn't do it. You say I've helped to put the rope round his neck. But I'm man enough to tell the truth. I'll get him off even if I have to swing for it myself."
This outburst from the witness-box created a sensation in court. Many of the spectators stood up in order to get a better view of the witness, and some of the ladies even jumped on their seats. Mr. Justice Hodson was momentarily taken aback. His first instinct was to check the witness and to ask him to be calm, but the witness took no notice of him. He displayed his judicial authority by an impressive descent of an uplifted hand which compelled the unruly spectators to resume their seats.
It was on Mr. Walters that Kemp concentrated his attention. It was Mr. Walters whom he set himself to convince as if he were the man who could set the prisoner free. Of the rest of the people in court Kemp in his excitement had become oblivious.
"Listen to me," said Kemp, "and I'll tell you who shot this scoundrel. He was a scoundrel, I say, and he ought to have been in gaol himself instead of sending other people there. I went up to the house that night to see if everything was clear, or whether that cur Hill had laid a trap—that part of my evidence is true. And from behind a tree in the plantation I saw Mr. Holymead pass me—he struck a match to look at the time, and I saw his face distinctly. A few minutes afterwards I heard loud, angry voices coming from somewhere upstairs in the house. I thought the best thing I could do was to find out what it was about. I said to myself that Mr. Holymead might want help. I walked across the garden and found that the hall door was wide open. I went inside and crept upstairs to the library. The light in the hall was turned on, as well as a little lamp on the turn of the staircase behind a marble figure holding some curtains, which led the way to the library. The library door was open an inch or two, and I listened.
"I could hear them quite plainly. Mr. Holymead was telling him what he thought of him. And no wonder. It made my blood boil to think of such a scoundrel sitting on the bench and sentencing better men than himself. I thought of the way in which he had killed my girl by giving her five years. It was the shock that killed her. Five years for stealing nothing, for she didn't handle the jewels. And here he had been stealing a man's wife and nothing said except what Mr. Holymead called him. I stood there listening in case they started to fight, and I might be wanted. But they didn't.
"I heard Mr. Holymead step towards the door, and I slipped away from where I had been standing. I saw the door of another room near me, and I opened it and went in quickly. I closed the door behind me, but I did not shut it. I looked through the crack and saw Mr. Holymead making his way downstairs. He walked as if he didn't see anything, and I watched him till he went through the curtains on the stairs at the bend of the staircase and I could see him no more.
"Then I heard a step, and looking through the crack I saw the judge coming out of the library. He walked to the head of the stairs and began to walk slowly down them. But when he reached the bend where the curtains and the marble figure were, he turned round and walked up the stairs again. He walked along as though he was thinking, with his hands behind his back, and nodding his head a little, and a little cruel, crafty smile on his face. He passed so close to me that I could have touched him by putting out my hand, and he went into the library again, leaving the door open behind him.