“That was done at Scotland Yard, your worship. But because of this privilege I was told to apply to you, sir, for this other warrant.”
“Quite so—quite so,” assented the magistrate, and Arthur Baxter was led away to the cells.
“Mr. Tempest,” said the magistrate, as the barrister, picking up his hat and stick, was preparing to leave the court, “I’ve no doubt this appeal will take some time. I quite appreciate the reason why you did not ask for bail. It is never ordinarily granted in a charge of murder. But prima facie it seems so unlikely that anyone in the position of Mr. Baxter would be likely to be guilty of the crime, that I look with a good deal of apprehension at the possibility of retaining an innocent man in custody until that appeal can be argued. Between now and next week you will doubtless have an opportunity of consulting your client; and if you find there is any really satisfactory explanation of the discovery of the revolver, and you are in a position to then substantiate it with proper evidence, I am at present inclined to think I might favourably consider an application for bail, providing there is not then any additional evidence. But, of course, it will need to be very substantial bail.”
“I’ll undertake it shall be forthcoming to any amount, sir,” answered the barrister.
The next day Tempest had an interview with the prisoner. “Now, how about this revolver?” he asked.
“My dear man, I know no more about it than you do. I’ve never had a revolver in my hand in my life, much less fired one. I never put it there. I never knew it was there.”
“The inspector swore he found it in your empty suit-case in your bedroom. When did you last use your suit-case?”
“About a fortnight before Sir John was shot. I stayed a week-end with the Trelawneys at Ashover.”
“Haven’t you been away from town since?”
“Oh, yes; but I’ve got a larger case, which I generally use.”