When the deceased had identified his brother he seemed less frightened, and soon they got to high words. Then there was a struggle, and in a moment the prisoner had thrown the deceased into the chasm. The witness lay quite still, and saw the prisoner go and look down into the chasm for a moment, after which he went away in the direction of Battisford. Then his statement before the magistrate, Mr Forsyth, was put in as in Johnston’s case.
Great sensation prevailed during this narrative. Those who had been consulting their watches with an eye to dinner—for it was getting late—elected to stay. The case might be finished to-night.
Then came Mr Windgate’s turn. His cross-examination was perfect. Every point in the witness’ past life, which he could colourably touch upon—and several which he could not—was raised. He made him admit—notwithstanding continued objections from the prosecution—that his own daughter would not live with him, even if the unfortunate girl had not been fairly driven from her home. He brought up against him former convictions for acts of ruffianism, and for poaching; and on the score of character, and by way of proving animus, he forced the witness to own that he had more than once expressed hatred of the accused, thus making him prove himself guilty of the blackest ingratitude, in that his situation with Colonel Neville had been procured through the prisoner’s good offices. But clever as he was, Mr Windgate could not get him to contradict himself or to swerve by a word from the main details of his story.
“Well, now,” he continued. “This took place two years and a half ago. That is to say, Mr Stephen Devine, that by witnessing this deed and not preventing it you made yourself an accessory after the fact? An accomplice—in short.”
The man looked rather scared.
“Please, sir, it was all done too quickly.”
“But why did you keep silence all this time?”
“Well, sir, you see, it was no affair of mine, and I was afraid I might get into trouble.”
“Indeed! Suspicious, to say the least of it. And how is it that, having held your tongue for so long, you should at last see fit to let it wag?”
“Well, sir, you see Johnston, he knew about it too, and he kep’ on a lettin’ me know that he did. At last he said that we should both get into trouble if we kep’ it dark any longer.”