The clerk of the assizes rose, arranged his wig, settled his gown.
"Order! Order!" shouted the ushers.
The clerk read the indictment in solemn and impressive tones. Few remembered the words he said, but all realised their purport. Paul Stepaside, standing there in the prisoner's dock, was indicted for the murder of Edward Wilson.
"Are you guilty or not guilty?"
"Not guilty," replied the prisoner. There was not a tremor in his voice, and many thought, as they looked at him, that he seemed to regard the question as an insult.
The jury had been sworn. This was a somewhat tedious proceeding, the swearing of the jury, and on Paul's face passed a look of contempt. It seemed so tiresome, this reading of a formula to twelve men, making them promise that they would consider the case "without fear or favour, upon the evidence given," and so on and so on. Still it was necessary, even although in many cases it might have become a mere matter of form. Certainly, too, each juryman seemed to realise the importance of his position and the seriousness of what he had to do. They were not men of great intellectual acumen, these jurymen—just kind-hearted, commonplace men who had been selected for the purpose. Still, they would do as well as others who might be got. They would hear the evidence given. They would listen attentively to the counsel's words and to the judge's summing up.
At length all was ready, and the jurymen settled in their seats, each with his note-book, and each prepared to listen attentively. No sooner had they sat down than the counsel for the prosecution rose. Mr. Bakewell was a man well known on the Northern Circuit. He had for many years appeared in the Assize Courts of Manchester, and had been spoken of as an able man. It had even been said of him that he cared more for verdicts than for justice. But this did not seem to annoy him. After all, the verdict is what a barrister has to think of. He had his reputation to maintain, his case to win, and he was the counsel for the prosecution. He had studied the case thoroughly, point by point. In this instance, too, he was more than ordinarily interested. He had met Paul Stepaside. On one occasion there had been a slight passage of arms between them, and Paul had come off best in the encounter; and ever since, Mr. Bakewell, while bearing no grudge against him, had been somewhat chagrined that this young man, who had never been trained in the law, should have got the better in their encounter.
"I am for the prosecution, my lord," he said, and sat down.
"Who is for the defence?" asked the judge.
This question was met by deathly silence.