He had, in fact, obtained nearly all he desired; and it may be as well to remark, that poor Mr. Taylor was one of those victims of the bar who, on entering a witness-box, show a certain sort of nervousness, which immediately indicates to cross-examining counsel, the existence in their minds of a quality which may be termed perplexability; which, like the scent of the hare or the fox, instantly leads the whole pack in full cry after them. Poor Taylor was as honest a man as ever lived; but yet, confounded by his cross-examination, and not very well recollecting the exact circumstances of events which had taken place when his hair was standing on end with horror, he had told, or admitted--which comes to the same thing--an exceedingly great falsehood. None of the men who examined the spot with Mr. Tracy, had gone down to the haw-haw; but the counsel had put it in such a way that, in his confused remembrance of the events, he was at first afraid of denying it; and afterwards became persuaded it was true. Had he remained much longer in the witness-box, and had the counsel been permitted to pursue his own course, there is probably nothing in the range of possibility which Mr. Taylor would not have vouched upon oath; for he was becoming more and more confounded every moment.
The counsel for the prosecution saw the state he was in too well to venture to re-examine him; and thus he was suffered to depart in peace.
The next witness who was called was 'William Sandes;' and a stout countryman entered the witness-box, with a somewhat heavy, dogged countenance. He deposed as follows:--"I am a labouring gardener in the employment of Arthur Tracy, Esq. I remember the events of the fifth of February last distinctly. I had worked in the garden all day, and at five o'clock in the evening I was returning home with my son behind me. In the walk that leads from the pond of gold-fish--what we call the Temple basin--to the gate by the head-gardener's cottage, I met Mr. Acton, the prisoner at the bar--I did not know he had come back. He had a hoe in his hand--what we call a Dutch hoe. I have seen a similar one in his hands often before. I saw the same, or one very like it, before the crowner's jury--"
The prisoner here said aloud, "The hoe was mine."
The witness then continued: "Mr. Acton spoke a few words to me and to the boy. I know him quite well, having served under him some months. I can swear it was the prisoner I met. He was going from the gate near his own house towards the basin. He had on a fustian coat with large pockets, such as he generally wore on working days. I did not look at his shoes. I did not hear of the murder till late that evening, when one of the servants from the house came down for the key I have of the gate. He woke me out of bed, and told me a man had been found murdered in the grounds. I went the next morning before the crowner and told all I knew."
The witness was then cross-examined.--"What induced you to go before the coroner, when you knew nothing of the murder?"
Witness.--"Why the servant, that is, Burwash, the boy, who was sent for the key, said that they all thought Mr. Acton had done it; and so I said, 'Likely enough; for I met him just going down that way.' And then he said I must go before the crowner, for Mr. Tracy had sent for him; and I said I would."
Counsel.--"Very kind and liberal on all parts! But now tell me if you were quite sure it was the prisoner. Remember, the sun was down, and it must have been darkish."
Witness.--"Not a bit of if. It was quite light, master. I don't think the sun was down. I saw him as plain as I see you."
"Pray, how could that be at past five o'clock?" asked the counsel.