Whilst the honorable proprietor of the Eastern Bank was fulminating his financial thunders against somebody at present unnamed, Paul Somerton stood at the dock of a London police court.
The prisoner seemed to be overwhelmed with the degradation of his position.
The police inspector, who stood forward when the case was called from the charge sheet, said the prisoner had only been apprehended that morning. The evidence, however, was very short, and he thought it would hardly be necessary for him to ask for an adjournment. The prisoner was charged with stealing a purse containing three ten-pound notes, four sovereigns, and scrip of the Barwood Banking Company to the value of fifty pounds.
“Does anybody appear to watch the case for the prisoner?” asked the magistrate.
Nobody replied, and the magistrate, putting a gold-rimmed glass to his eye, addressed the prisoner.
“Judging from your dress and general appearance, you are respectably connected. Have you no friends here?”
“No, sir,” said Paul. “But I am quite innocent of the charge which is made against me.”
“Yes, prisoners mostly say so,” said the magistrate, cynically; “but that must be inquired into.”
“It is some horrible conspiracy, sir,” said Paul with great earnestness, his lip quivering and his face quite pale with apprehension.
A gentleman who was sitting near the reporters rose at this juncture, and asked to be allowed to watch the case for the prisoner. Paul willingly embraced the offer on his part, and Mr. Arundel Williamson, a briefless barrister and a “gentleman of the press,” stepped up to the prisoner, and entered into a brief conversation with Paul.