“I will relate, my lords,” said I, “the few events which followed,—not that they can in any wise corroborate the plain statement I have made, nor indeed that they bear, save remotely, on the events mentioned; but I will do so in the hope,—a faint hope it is,—that in this court there might be found some one person who could add his testimony to mine, and say, 'This is true; to that I can myself bear witness.'”
With this brief preface, I told how Darby had brought me to a house in an obscure street, in which a man, apparently dying, was stretched upon a miserable bed; that while my wound was being dressed, a car came to the door with the intention of conveying the sick man away somewhere. This, however, was deemed impossible, so near did his last hour appear; and in his place I was taken off, and placed on board the vessel bound for France.
“Of my career in that country it is needless that I should speak; it can neither throw light upon the events which preceded it, nor have any interest for the court My commission as a captain of the Imperial Hussars may, however, testify the position that I occupied; while the certificate of the minister of war on the back will show that I quitted the service voluntarily, and with honor.”
“The court would advise you, sir,” said the judge, “not to advert to circumstances which, while they contribute nothing to your exculpation, may have a very serious effect on the minds of the jury against you. Have you any witnesses to call?”
“None, my lord.”
A pause of some minutes ensued, when the only sounds in the court were the whispering tones of Crofts's voice, as he said something into his counsel's ear. The lawyer rose.
“My task, my lords,” said he, “is a short one. Indeed, in all probability, I need not trouble either your lordships or the jury with an additional word on a case where the evidence so conclusively establishes the guilt of the accused, and where attempt to contradict it has been so abortive. Never, perhaps, was a story narrated within the walls of a court so full of improbable—might I not almost say impossible—events, as that of the prisoner.”
He then recapitulated, with rapid but accurate detail, the principal circumstances of my story, bestowing some brief comment on each as he went. He sneered at the account of the struggle, and turned the whole description of the contest with Crofts into ridicule,—calling on the jury to bestow a glance on the manly strength and vigorous proportions of his client, and then remember the age of his antagonist,—a boy of fourteen.
“I forgot, gentlemen (I ask your pardon), he confesses to one ally,—this famous piper. I really did hope that was a name we had done with forever. I indulged the dream, that among the memories of an awful period this was never to recur; but unhappily the expectation was delusive. The fellow is brought once more before us; and perhaps, for the first time in his long life of iniquity, charged with a crime he did not commit.” In a few sentences he explained that a large reward was at that very moment offered for the apprehension of Darby, who never would have ventured under any disguise to approach the capital, much less trust himself within the walls of a barrack.
“The tissue of wild and inconsistent events which the prisoner has detailed as following the assault, deserves no attention at my hands. Where was this house? What was the street? Who was this doctor of which he speaks? And the sick man, how was he called?”