“The day before.”
“Oh! You did, did you?”—making a note. “Now, had you been asleep at the time?”
“No, sir. I was just goin’ to drop off when I heard gentlemen’s voices in the passage.”
“And who were the ‘gentlemen’?”
“They was Mr Durnford and Grainger, the waiter.”
“Now you are on your oath,” said Mr Windgate impressively, fixing the witness with a stern look that nearly drove the luckless young woman wild with terror and apprehension. “Are you ready to swear that the voice you heard talking to—a—Grainger was that of Mr Durnford?”
“Well, sir, I don’t know about swearing, but I’m positive it was.”
“Indeed. You are singularly confident, young woman,” sarcastically. “But no matter. We shall soon show that, like most positive people, this witness is quite at fault. You are quite right not to swear. You may go.”
“Stephen Devine.”
There was a stir among the audience, and interest, which had begun to flag, now revived, as the hulking form of the ex-poacher appeared in the box. There was a decidedly hang-dog look on his swarthy face, not unmixed with fear, and he took the Book as if it would burn him. But his evidence was straightforward enough. In the examination he stated how, while returning home from Wandsborough on the night in question, he had unexpectedly caught sight of Hubert Dorrien hurrying in a direction which could have led him nowhere in particular. This, added to the fact that it was a Sunday evening, rendered the young man’s movements not a little suspicious, and the witness determined to watch him. Accordingly he followed him at a distance to the brow of the cliff above Smugglers’ Ladder. It must have been a little after nine, for he distinctly heard the hour strike from Wandsborough steeple—to that he could positively swear. To his surprise he heard another man’s voice, and on stealing a little nearer he recognised it as that of the prisoner, Roland Dorrien. So he hid behind a stone and waited. He was not quite near enough to catch what they said, but the deceased seemed rather frightened. But what puzzled the witness most was that although he could swear to the voice, no less than to the figure, the face was strange to him. It was bright moonlight at the time. At last the prisoner turned to the light, and his brother, recognising him, at once exclaimed “Roland!” and then the witness was able to see that he seemed in a manner disguised. He, Devine, afterwards saw him twice in Battisford—once from the window of a public-house and once from a shop door, and easily recognised him.