“Indeed,” said the counsel, as though this fact was quite new to him. “What was it like?”
“It weighed close on two ounces, an’ was shaped like a kaka’s head.”
“What is a kaka, my man, and what shape is it’s head?”
“I thought you’d ha’ known—it’s a parrot, mister.”
“Would you know the nugget, if you saw it again?”
“’Course, I would,” replied the witness with infinite contempt. “I got eyes, ain’t I, an’ a mem’ry?”
“Is that it?” The barrister handed a bit of gold to the witness.
“That’s the identical nugget,” replied the witness: “you may make your mind easy on that. I sold it to Zahn soon after he come to the field.”
“Thank you,” said the Crown Prosecutor, and, turning to the jury, he added, “That nugget, gentlemen, is an exhibit in the case, and is one of the effects found on the prisoner at the bar, when he was searched after his arrest.”
The witness left the box amid a murmur of excitement, and from the gestures of the jurymen it was clear that his evidence had impressed them. The case against Scarlett wore a serious aspect, and the Crown Prosecutor, smiling, as though well pleased with his work, was preparing to examine witnesses to prove the prisoner’s arrival at Canvas Town on the night of the murder, when there arose a considerable commotion amongst the public, by reason of a wild, unshorn man pushing his way violently towards the barrier. The Police Sergeant and his constables cried, “Silence in the Court!” but amid noisy protestations from the crowd, the ragged, struggling figure reached the barrier, vaulted over it, and stood on the floor of the Court. The barristers rose to stare at the extraordinary figure; the Judge, open-mouthed with astonishment, glared at everybody generally; the Sergeant made three strides towards the intruder, and seized him roughly by the arm.