Guilty Bonds

“No,” replied the inspector, “except that from inquiries I made I find that very shortly after the inquest on Mrs Inglewood the prisoner left the country suddenly, and the next murder – the one in Angel Court – was perpetrated on the day of his return.”

As Mr Paget resumed his seat, my counsel, Mr Roland, rose. Turning to the witness with a suave countenance, he mildly asked:

“How do you fix the day of the prisoner’s return?”

“By the books of the club to which the accused belonged – the Junior Garrick.”

“You say you found the seals in the library. Could access be easily gained to that room?”

“No; prisoner’s wife had the key.”

“And she refused you the keys of the chest of drawers?”

“Yes, giving as her reason that it contained papers of a strictly private nature.”

“Did she express surprise when you found the seals?”

“When I showed them to her she fainted.”

“You said, just now, that the little padlock was ‘concealed.’ Are you sure it had not accidentally fallen behind the paper?”

“No; I should think not.”

“Did you suspect the prisoner previous to his arrest?”

“I did. After the inquest on Mrs Inglewood, observation was kept upon him for some time, but he eluded us by going abroad.”

“And now you endeavour to fix the crime upon him without any direct evidence. I have nothing more to ask you.”

My hopes sank as Mr Roland resumed his seat, with a poor affectation of indifference.

The next witness was a neatly-attired, gentlemanly-looking man, the jeweller’s manager, who proved the purchase of the bracelet by Mrs Inglewood, and identified the tiny padlock as a portion of it.

When he had retired, Mr Roland having asked him no questions, he was succeeded by Bob Nugent, who stepped into the witness-box averting my gaze. Was even Bob in the conspiracy!

“You were, I think, Mr Nugent,” said the prosecuting counsel, “a friend – a particular friend I may say – of the prisoner’s?”

“I was – formerly.”

“Now, tell me, do you remember the night of the 15th August?”

“I do. The prisoner and I left the Junior Garrick Club soon after midnight, to proceed home.”

“Was there anything in his manner which attracted your attention?”

“He seemed rather excited, having lost heavily at cards. I left him at Danes’ Inn.”

“Do you know on what day he returned from abroad?”

“It was in the beginning of March. He was then strangely reticent as to his actions in the meantime.”

“You will remember, as a journalist, possibly, on what night the murder in Angel Court occurred?”

“On the same night as the prisoner’s return.”

“Do you know anything of the photograph found upon the accused?”

“Yes; he produced it accidentally, while dining at the Junior Garrick Club, and appeared much confused and annoyed, endeavouring at once to conceal it.”

“Did you see it again?”

“The prisoner, in consequence of some remarks I made to him, showed it to me next day at his hotel. On that occasion he explained that it had been given to him by some man who is now dead.”

“Did that not strike you as improbable?”

“Well – yes, it did.”

“Did he enter into any further explanation?”

“Very little was said about the seal.”

The court was extremely hot. Surely I was becoming fainter and more faint! There was a singing and surging in my ears. Was I falling or standing upright? What were they speaking of? I had lost sight of the face of my friend. I could only see the lines of expectant upturned countenances.

I was really fainting; nevertheless I struggled against it. Something, too, within me told me that I ought to struggle against it, yet everything was swimming and whirling around me, and vague forms seemed rapidly passing and repassing before my vision.

Then I staggered backward into the chair placed for me, and gradually the sense of sickening misery departed.

Chapter Twenty Nine

Monsieur’s Opinion

The spirit was strong within me not to yield to any growing unconsciousness; not to be subdued by any physical or moral influences.

I again became perfectly calm. I was seated in the chair. A seafaring man was in the witness-box. Nugent was not there. Demetrius, sitting below, was looking at me with an anxious and uneasy expression.

“I recognise the accused,” I heard the witness say in reply to a question from the prosecuting counsel. “A recent event has brought me here to give evidence.”

“Have you any doubt prisoner is the man you saw emerge from the doorway of Mrs Inglewood’s house on the night in question?”

“None.”

“Did he appear agitated?”

“Yes; he passed me and rushed down the street as fast as he could run.”

“Did you not make any attempt to stop him?”

“No; at that time I was unaware of the murder.”

“When did you again see him?”

“Not until a few days ago, when I recognised his portrait in a newspaper.”

A long cross-examination resulted in the witness firmly adhering to his story, and explaining that as he had been on a long voyage he knew nothing of the occurrence until many months afterwards.

Demetrius, with evident unwillingness, entered the box. His story was brief, yet damaging.