Nina Staarbrucker stole silently out of the court, only anxious to get home, and escape observation. There were many eyes upon her, but she heeded them not at all. Thank God! there seemed some ray of light for Frank; for herself, whether Frank came out triumphantly or no, there was no outlook, all seemed blackness and gloom. Otto’s part in this wretched business had made ruin of all her hopes. Her brother’s treachery had determined her upon seeking a career of her own; work of some sort—anywhere away from Kimberley—she must get, and get at once, so soon as the trial was over, and whatever its result.
Once more, in a week’s time, the court wore its former aspect, the characters were all marshalled for the final act. The new addition to the caste, Mr Samuel Vesthreim, a lively, little, dark-visaged Jew of low type, seemed on the best of terms with himself. For more than fifteen months he had been hard at it on Cape Town Breakwater, or road-scarping upon the breezy heights round the Cape peninsula—always, of course, under the escort of guards and the unpleasing supervision of loaded rifles—and really he needed a little rest and change. This trip to Kimberley was the very thing for him. What slight sense of shame he had ever possessed, had long since vanished under his recent hardening experiences; and as the little man looked round the crowded court, and saw the well-remembered faces of many a Kimberley acquaintance, it did his heart good. He positively beamed again—in a properly subdued manner, of course.
The senior judge remarked to the advocates, “Perhaps it will save the time of all if I put some questions to this witness myself.” The suggestion was gracefully received, and the judge turned to the little Jew, now attentive in the witness-box.
“Samuel, or Sam Vesthreim, you are a convict now undergoing a term of penal servitude at Cape Town, I think?”
“Yeth, my lord.”
“It may perhaps tend slightly to lessen or mitigate the extreme term of your imprisonment if I receive perfectly truthful and straightforward answers to the questions I am going to ask. Be very careful, therefore. Any future recommendation on my part to the authorities will depend upon yourself.”
“Yeth, my lord,” answered Sam, in his most serious manner—and he meant it.
“About seventeen months ago you were in business in Beaconsfield, were you not?”
“Yeth, my lord.”
“Do you know Mr Ayling here?” pointing to the trader.