“The question, Crumpett, decides itself,” said Sir Topman Murtle in a manner that seemed to imply that a stronger and wiser and more competent nature had already decided it.
And indeed, as Sir Topman Murtle said, the question did decide itself, for at this moment William Jordan, wearing his overcoat, and carrying his hat, entered the room. He was accompanied by a stalwart police constable.
“It is my wish, sir,” said the young man, speaking in a calm and clear voice, “to place myself in the hands of justice.”
Mr. Octavius Crumpett heaved a sigh of relief. He, too, had passed through his mental crisis.
XXXIV
On the following morning, within the precincts of a stuffy, drab-coloured, malodorous building, which was so seldom visited by daylight that the gas was already lit, Mr. Octavius Crumpett, looking grave and perturbed, accepted by the invitation of the presiding magistrate and a fellow-member of his club, one Mr. Ashmole Pursglove, C.B., Q.C., a seat on the bench.
The prisoner, worn and pale, was already standing in the dock. Below him was a solicitor engaged by Mr. James Dodson at the suggestion of Mr. Octavius Crumpett. Mr. Dodson himself was beside him. A close observer would have said that his own composure was considerably less than that of the accused.
The case was of such a trivial character that it was disposed of immediately. The accused, upon his own confession, was charged with abstracting the sum of twenty pounds, the property of his employer. The accused’s solicitor spoke very earnestly as to the excellent character the prisoner had always borne; he had been seven years in the prosecutor’s employ; and he insisted upon the fact that the theft would not have been brought to light had not the accused himself restored the money and confessed his action. To this the prisoner’s employer added an earnest request that the unfortunate young man be dealt with leniently, as he had given every satisfaction to the house of Crumpett and Hawker, and they had no desire whatever to press the case.
“William Jordan,” said the magistrate, in the tone of a somewhat petulant male parent, “having regard to the fact that your employer, whose goodness of heart and philanthropy of disposition are well known, has himself interceded for you, and having regard also to the fact that since the commission of your act you appear to have done all in your power to repair it, I should be inclined to feel that the ends of justice would be met by a nominal sentence upon you. But unfortunately I learn that this is not the first occasion upon which you have been before this court; and as you have already enjoyed what I may say I am inclined to consider the questionable philanthropy of the First Offenders’ Act, upon a charge similar to this present, although upon the former occasion it involved theft from the person, I now feel that I have no alternative but to deal with you in a salutary manner. William Jordan, you must go to hard labour for six months.”
The young man stood erectly to receive this sentence. About his lips was a smile which was proud, humble, yet almost happy.