The news that Walcott had stabbed his wife with a dagger did not take these charitable people by surprise, though it added fuel to the fire of their indignation. What else could be expected from a man who had first deserted and then starved the unfortunate woman whom he had taken to wife? It was only natural that he should try to get rid of her; but what a cruel wretch he was! Hanging would be too good for him if his poor victim should die.
It is unnecessary to say that a great deal of interest was displayed by the public, when the case came on for hearing at Bow Street; but no real facts were elicited beyond those which had already been in print. Two remands were taken, in the hope that Cora might recover sufficiently to give her evidence, but though she was at last declared to be out of danger, the house-surgeon at the hospital would not take the responsibility of saying that she could safely attend at the police-court. Ultimately, the magistrate having heard all the evidence that was forthcoming, and Alan's solicitor reserving his defence, the accused was committed to take his trial at the Central Criminal Court on a charge of wounding with intent to inflict grievous bodily harm.
Nevertheless, Alan was allowed to go out on bail. He had not cared to claim this privilege, and would almost have preferred to stay in prison. His solicitor had made much of the necessity of preparing his defence, and of the indispensable conferences between himself and his client; but Alan had not the slightest hope of being acquitted. He told Mr. Larmer precisely how the whole thing had happened—how his wife had brought the dagger with her, how she had raised it in her hand, how he seized her wrist, and how he had never touched the weapon himself until he drew it from the wound as she lay on the floor.
"They won't believe me," he said. "You know what a prejudice there is against me, and you will never persuade a jury to take my word against hers. She will certainly say that I stabbed her with my own dagger; and it was my dagger once: it has my name upon it."
"That is an awkward fact. If only we could prove that she brought it with her, it would go a long way towards acquitting you."
"But we can't prove it. Then, you see, Mrs. Gorman says I had my hand on the weapon as she was falling."
"We can easily shake her in that."
"And Hipkins says that I admitted the crime—called myself a murderer."
"We can shake that too. You said, 'Am I a murderer?' It was an odd thing to say, but your nerves were unstrung. Men in such predicaments have been known to say a great deal more than that."
"I assure you Larmer, my mind is so confused about it that I cannot remember whether I said 'Am I' or 'I am.' I rather incline to think that I said 'I am a murderer;' for I believed her to be as good as dead at the time, and I certainly thought I had killed her."