Guilty Bonds

I sat in the dock heedless of everything; I had grown callous. I had one thought only: Why had not Vera made her promised explanation?

A few minor witnesses were called, and the case for the prosecution closed.

At last Mr Roland rose to make his speech in my defence. The circumstantial evidence already produced was, I knew, sufficient to cause the jury to find me guilty, and I listened in rapt attention to the clear, concise arguments of the famous advocate.

But how unsatisfactory was his speech – how weak was his defence! With a sinking heart I saw more than one of the jury smile incredulously when my innocence was asserted.

“I admit, gentlemen,” said Mr Roland, in the course of his address, “that this case is enshrouded in mystery; but while asserting that the prisoner is innocent, I tell you plainly there is a secret. The key to this enigma is known to one person alone, and that person, for reasons with which I am myself unacquainted, is not in a position to divulge it. That this secret bears directly upon the crime is obvious, nevertheless it is a most unfortunate circumstance that the mystery cannot be wholly elucidated by a satisfactory explanation. However, I have several witnesses whom I purpose calling before you; and having heard them, I shall ask you to discharge the prisoner, feeling assured you will be convinced that he is entirely innocent.”

“But, Mr Roland, this is a most extraordinary case,” interposed the judge. “You speak of a person who knows the secret and refuses to give evidence. If this is so, this person is party to the crime. To whom do you refer?”

Counsel held a brief consultation with his junior, then rose again.

The Court was all expectancy.

“I refer, m’lord, to no less a person than the prisoner’s wife!”

The reply caused a sensation. Vera knew the secret! I was not wrong.

“Ah, that is unfortunate,” exclaimed the judge, disappointedly. “It is impossible to call her in a case of this description.”

At that moment the usher handed Mr Roland a note. He read it hastily, and, raising his hand, said:

“The lady has just arrived in court, and is about to produce important evidence, m’lord.”

The silence was unbroken, save for the frou-frou of Vera’s dress as she advanced towards my counsel, and bent over him, whispering.

Mr Roland was seated close to the dock, and I strained my ears to catch their hurried conversation.

In face of the horrible charge brought against me, the persistency with which it was pursued, and the evidence produced in support of it, I had been so overwhelmed by a sense of fatality that I had almost decided to let things take their course. I knew I was innocent, nevertheless I felt the difficulty, if not the impossibility, of proving it. Now, however, encouraged by this proof of sympathy on the part of Vera, I took heart.

“What will these witnesses prove?” asked Mr Roland, hurriedly.

Vera, whose face was rendered more delicate and touching by the tortures she seemed undergoing, glanced quickly towards me, and replied:

“They will prove my husband’s innocence!”

Counsel uttered an ejaculation of surprise. “Are you certain of this?” he asked.

“Yes. If it were possible that I might be called as a witness I could tell the Court things that would probably astonish it; but I leave everything to the two persons I have brought,” she replied in a tremulous voice.

The jury grew impatient. The excitement was intense.

In a few moments a young and rather showily-attired woman stepped into the box. As she turned towards me I was puzzled to know where I had seen the face before. The features seemed quite familiar, yet I could not recollect.

“You are Jane Maygrove?” asked my counsel.

“Yes.”

“Tell us what you know of the murder of Mrs Inglewood. Relate it in your own way.”

She hesitated for a moment and commenced:

“Before I married I was maid to Mrs Inglewood. Mistress was a very quiet lady, and lived with a cook and myself in Bedford Place. I was in her service about three months, and although she told me she was married – and she wore a wedding-ring – her husband never visited her. Several foreign ladies came to see her on different occasions, but only one gentleman. He also had the appearance of a foreigner but spoke English without an accent. One evening, in the latter part of July, mistress dined alone with this gentleman, and I overheard a conversation which took place in the drawing-room afterwards. I – ”

“Was this gentleman to whom you refer the prisoner?” asked Mr Roland.

“No he was not. On that night I heard the visitor advising mistress to withdraw her money from a company which he said was on the brink of collapsing, and place it in his hands to invest. At first she demurred, and appeared to discredit the rumour that the company was not safe; but, after a long argument, he exacted a promise that she would withdraw the money and hand it over to him in cash on the fifteenth of August, when it was arranged that he should re-invest it for her.”

“And what happened on the latter date?”