And the finder answered, “If you please, my lord, the gentleman next to me pulled it out of his pocket.”
“Who is he?” the judge inquired, with a sinking heart, for he himself knew perfectly well who was the unhappy possessor.
And a thrill of horror ran round the crowded court as Forbes-Ewing answered, in a very distinct voice, “Mr. Cyril Waring, my lord, the brother of the prisoner.”
CHAPTER XLIII. — SIR GILBERT’S TEMPTATION.
Cyril felt all was up. Elma glanced at him trembling. This was horrible, inconceivable, inexplicable, fatal. The very stars in their courses seem to fight against Guy. Blind chance checkmated them. No hope was left now, save in Gilbert Gildersleeve’s own sense of justice.
But Sir Gilbert Gildersleeve sat there, transfixed with horror. No answering gleam now shot through his dull, glazed eye. For he alone knew that whatever made the case against the prisoner look worse, made his own position each moment more awful and more intolerable.
Through the rest of the case, Cyril sat in his place like a stone figure. Counsel for the Crown generously abstained from putting him into the witness-box to give testimony against his brother. Or rather, they thought the facts themselves, as they had just come out in court, more telling for the jury than any formal evidence. The only other witness of importance was, therefore, the lad who had sat on the gate by the entrance to The Tangle. As he scrambled into the box Sir Gilbert’s anxiety grew visibly deeper and more acute than ever. For the boy was the one person who had seen him at Mambury on the day of the murder; and on the boy depended his sole chance of being recognised. At Tavistock, eighteen months before, Sir Gilbert had left the cross-examination of this witness in the hands of a junior, and the boy hadn’t noticed him, sitting down among the Bar with gown and wig on. But to-day, it was impossible the boy shouldn’t see him; and if the boy should recognise him—why, then, Heaven help him.
The lad gave his evidence-in-chief with great care and deliberateness. He swore positively to Guy, and wasn’t for a moment to be shaken in cross-examination. He admitted he had been mistaken at Tavistock, and confused the prisoner with Cyril—when he saw one of them apart—but now that he saw ‘em both together before his eyes at once, why, he could take his solemn oath as sure as fate upon him. Guy’s counsel failed utterly to elicit anything of importance, except—and here Sir Gilbert’s face grew whiter than ever—except that another gentleman whom the lad didn’t know had asked at the gate about the path, and gone round the other way as if to meet Mr. Nevitt.