It was a fair, if a conventional address he delivered to the jury. Obviously, thought Cartwright, he could do nothing less than call attention to the serious nature of the charge, the interests involved, the betrayal of shareholders, and the like. On the whole, the summing up did not diminish the comforting sense that the worst that lay before him was a few months’ imprisonment and then a start in another land under another name. He never doubted his ability to make money. The summing up was ended, and the jury retired. They were gone twenty minutes, and when they came back it was a foregone conclusion what their verdict would be.
“Do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?”
“Guilty,” was the reply.
“And is that the verdict of you all?”
“It is.”
Mr. Justice Maxell was examining his notes, and presently he closed the little book which he was consulting.
“The charge against Alfred Cartwright,” he said, “is one of the most serious which could be brought against a business man. The jury have returned a verdict of guilty, and I must say that I concur in that verdict. I am here in my place”—his voice shook a little—“to administer and maintain the laws of England. I must do all that in me is possible to preserve the purity of commercial life and the condition of English commercial honesty.”
Cartwright waited for that “but”—it did not come.
“In view of the seriousness of the frauds and irregularities which the accused has committed, with a cynical disregard for the happiness or fortune of those people whose interests should have been his own, I cannot do less than pass a sentence which will serve as an example to all wrongdoers.”
Cartwright gasped and gripped the edge of the dock.