The Surrey jury, however, were evidently of opinion that the case "wasn't so simple as it looked," and they spent some time in their private room, eventually returning to astound a packed Court by declaring their verdict to be one of manslaughter. Of course, there was no help for it, and instead of the scaffold Barthélemy received a nominal sentence, and was free again shortly afterwards.
The verdict of the jury—which in plain language meant that, in their opinion, the duel had been fairly fought—greatly enhanced Barthélemy's reputation amongst his countrymen. The better-disposed, however, avoided him, but in the purlieus of Soho it was considered an honour to stand the "hero" of Englefield Green a drink, or, when funds permitted, to offer him dinner. Barthélemy was undisputed king of the bullies now, and he thoroughly enjoyed his triumph. For some months he was lionized, and he did considerable entertaining in return, providing plenty of food and wine, particularly the latter.
It was said that his object was to make certain men speak freely and without thinking, and it was remarkable how well informed the Paris secret police were of the movements and doings of the principal members of the French colony in London about this time. But if Barthélemy was suspected of being their agent there was no proof against him, and the majority of those who knew him unreservedly accepted him as a pure-minded and high-souled patriot.
But gradually Barthélemy's funds ran out, and his borrowing powers showed signs of appreciable decline. The aggressive theatricalism of his manner remained, and he began to be something of a lady-killer. But most of the time he was vulgarly hard-up, and he detested poverty.
Some time in the year 1854 he came into the life of a tall, handsome girl who spoke French with an English accent. Who this girl was has never been discovered. She came on to the stage, as it were, with Barthélemy to take part in a tragedy that was to cost the villain his life, and when the drama was over she was never seen again, although the police of half a dozen countries devoted weeks to searching for her.
The girl was undoubtedly pretty, and she fell in love with Barthélemy, and, according to him, she told him a moving and pathetic story of neglect and ill-treatment by her own father. Her father, she declared, was Mr. George Moore, a well-to-do mineral water manufacturer, who lived at 73, Warren Street, Fitzroy Square, in the dull and dreary neighbourhood of Tottenham Court Road. She said he had promised to make her a comfortable allowance, but had failed to keep his word, and she implored Barthélemy to see that justice was done her.
Whether the murderer's statement was an invention or not we have no means of knowing, but he did call on Mr. Moore, and he took the girl with him, and the visit culminated in a terrible tragedy.
When the servant opened the door to the visitors she noticed that the lady wore a thick mantle and was heavily veiled. They passed upstairs to Mr. Moore's private room and were cordially received, for afterwards three siphons of lemonade were found on a table with three glasses. It may be mentioned that in addition to Mr. Moore and his female servant the only other resident in the house was a young grandchild of the tenant's.
For a few minutes Mr. Moore and his visitors chatted amicably—it was never known what passed between them—Barthélemy gave his version, but he was, amongst other things, a professional liar, and his word cannot be accepted. Mr. Moore undoubtedly received them in the friendliest manner, and he must have had a good reason for doing so. Who was the mysterious girl heavily veiled? What part did she take in the conversation that led up to the double murder?
Barthélemy's version was that he politely requested Mr. Moore to deal fairly by his own daughter, whom he intended to make his wife. Of course, as is the custom in France, the Frenchman pointed out that the bride must have a dowry. It was essential to the success of the matrimonial adventure that the wife should be in a position to support her husband. In this case the husband-to-be was the type that does not like work.