“I do,” replied our Reporter, “and I remember, also, that Antony Cowlrick asked you if you thought God would allow the guilty to escape, or that He needed the assistance of a lawyer to punish the man who shed another’s blood.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Goldberry, gravely, “he used those words, and in this case they are justified by events. God has punished the murderers without the assistance of a lawyer.”
“Why do you recall the name of Antony Cowlrick?” inquired our Reporter.
“Because I am here to represent him. He has not only paid me for my past services—forcing the money upon me—but he has thanked me for them, which, in the bitterness of his heart, he declined to do, although he was not asked, when he was finally discharged.”
“I had a suspicion,” remarked our Reporter, “at that time that he was a gentleman; he spoke like one, and had the manner of one. It was chiefly for that reason I took an interest in him.”
“No, no,” said Mr. Goldberry, jocosely; “you wanted copy. Every man to his trade.”
“I could retort with good effect,” said our Reporter, good-humouredly, “but I spare you. Will Antony Cowlrick be here this morning?”
“Yes, and others whom you know.”
At this moment a lady and a gentleman entered the room in which the inquest was held, and advancing to Mr. Goldberry shook hands with him. The gentleman was Antony Cowlrick, who, after a few words with his lawyer, turned, and offered his hand to our Reporter.
“I must apologise,” he said, “for not having kept the half-appointment I made with you on the day you so generously lent me the sovereign in Leicester Square, but I had my reasons, which you will understand when I tell you as much of my story as I think it proper for you to know.”