Had I been one of the crowd who listened, I should have believed myself guilty. The evidence against me, as he set it forth, seemed a web closely woven enough to hold anything. I had been seen by two or more people engaged in a quarrel with the deceased in the Basso Porto. I had been seen on the Chiaja with him at a time when he was the worse for drink, and when my conduct and appearance were so suspicious that a perfect stranger was impelled to watch me for two hours lest I should do the man a mischief in his drunken sleep. Two or three hours later, this perfect stranger to us both had found the dead body of Charles Grammont in the road with all the pockets of his garments turned inside out, and had put the body into a cart he was then driving from Posilipo to Naples. A hundred yards nearer the city he found me lying bruised as if in a struggle, and with the marks of a hand wet with blood upon my white shirt-front. The marks of the hand had been found to correspond in size with the hand of the deceased. My companion in the dock was probably, so the accusatore said, an accessory before the fact, and it was probable that, whilst I had committed the crime to gratify my own evil passion for revenge, I had engaged this desperate and notorious character to pillage the body in order to give the murder the appearance of having been committed from a purely sordid motive. He set forth all his facts and all his theories about them with great calmness, but when he came to the close of his indictment he burst into an impassioned protest against certain articles which had appeared in a French journal on the question of Italian Brigandage, citing this case as an argument to show that crimes of violence were committed by born Neapolitans within the city radius, and expressing a sarcastic wonder that the authorities should have troubled themselves to arrest the criminals though the proofs against them both were overwhelming.
'Thus it is,' said the accusatore, speaking with a stern passion of emphasis, 'that these traitors to their country first cast off their natal ties in order to lead lives of unrestricted profligacy abroad, and having, in other lands, done all within them to disgrace the land of their birth, return to it to inflict a wound still deeper upon the national reputation; and thus it is that these villains, though they once did their country the honour to repudiate it, return to lay a final disgrace upon it.'
He pressed with a passionate insistence for the extremest rigour of the law against us both, and it was plain from the angry murmurs of the court that this appeal to the national sentiment had told heavily against me. Then he called his witnesses. The first three were from the Basso Porto—fit inhabitants of the place. They told substantially the same story, and all swore that I was engaged in an angry broil with Grammont and another Englishman whom they did not know. They admitted that the conversation was carried on in English, but my advocate's half-contemptuous cross-examination could not set aside the fact that a quarrel, in which I had taken some part, had taken place. After these three, Matthew Hollis was called, and the man whom I had watched upon the quay presented himself. He told, in fair though foreign-sounding Italian, a plain story. He had been an engine-fitter, and had worked in France and Italy. He was settled down in business on his own account in Naples, and on the day to which his story related had work to do at Posilipo. On his way thither he observed Grammont and myself, and suspected me of evil designs and watched me. He told how I tried to get rid of him by sending him upon a message to the Caffe d' Italia, and how he declined to leave the place. He related how, having seen us part, he had gone his way to Posilipo, and how, returning thence in the evening with a workman of his own, he had found the dead body of Grammont on the road, and had found me lying insensible at a little distance from it. A close cross-examination only served to prove the absolute solidity of this man's story. Then an officer produced a bundle, and, untying it, displayed the shirt I had worn, with the rust-coloured mark of a hand distinct upon the front. 'Did that mark correspond with the size of the hand of the murdered man?' So asked the accusatore pubblico. 'Yes,' answered the official, 'accurately.' 'Did it correspond with the hand of the prisoner Giovanni Câlvotti?' 'No,' he responded, and stated truly that I was a man of much larger build than Grammont, and my hand at least an inch longer. So far as I was-concerned the case closed with his evidence, and the case against Fornajo was then gone into. There is no need to go over that ground: again. All that was proved against him was; the possession of Grammont's money. He failed totally to establish an alibi, and so far as participation in the crime went the evidence; seemed clear enough against him.
Then arose my advocate, with pale face and coal-black eyes.
'This world,' he said, 'is full of strange and curious contrasts, but I do not think that any contrast so strange as this has been seen by any man who now hears my voice. Side by side, companions in your thoughts of them, stand two men so utterly unlike each other in; appearance and character, that to see them thus commonly arraigned is in itself an amazement. The one a gentleman and descended from gentlemen, the other a person of the lowest class—the one famous in the annals of contemporary art, the other known for nothing but his love for vulgar dissipation. As they stand there before you they present a spectacle tragic and unique. As I know them—and as you will see them when I have called the one witness I have to call—they present a spectacle yet more amazing. One man stands there a monument of honour, a glory to his country, and a lesson to mankind. The other stands there a murderer in fact already, and in his heart a murderer again; since, knowing the innocence of the man beside him, he seeks at the expense of innocence to shield his own guilt from the sword of justice. It is my pride and my delight to-day to heal one broken and heroic heart, and it is my duty to bring one miserable criminal to justice.'
Whilst the young advocate spoke thus, I stood in amazed agony. Was he about to denounce Clyde in order to free me? It would be a professional tour de force, and the melodramatic power of the situation would have made him notorious for life. He looked round upon me slowly when he had ceased to speak, and I saw that his dark eyes were burning with triumphant fire. He sat down, and for a moment there was a dead hush in the crowded place, and then a buzz of excited speech, and then a clamour. In the midst of it an officer placed a chair before the judge, immediately between the judicial seat and the railed space in which I stood. If I had been amazed at the speech of the young advocate, you may guess how I felt when Arthur Clyde came forward and took the seat. His eyes met mine once, and I saw that they were brimmed with tears, and there was such a smile upon his face as I never saw before. Was I mad, or lost in some fantastic dream? This man voluntarily here, of all men—and smiling upon me! It was at once incredible and true. I waited, dizzy and breathless, to hear and see the end.
The customary oath administered, my advocate arose, and, in the midst of a deathlike silence, questioned Arthur Clyde. He first drew from him the story of the Basso Porto, and at its close begged to recall the three witnesses who had deposed to my participation in the quarrel. They came, and each identified Arthur as the third party in the fracas. Arthur gave his evidence in English, through the sworn interpreter of the court, and Mr. Gregory once or twice gave hints to the advocate when question or answer missed precise translation. He told of our second meeting with Grammont, and of his own departure. Then came a story which amazed me, and riveted the ears of every creature there. That story I reproduce from the columns of the 'Giorno.'
Advocate: Where did you go next?
Witness: To the Caffe d' Italia to await my friend.
Advocate: How long did you stay?