Naturally, the case which had excited the whole country loomed large on the horizon. Indeed, it gave rise to most of the stories which had been told that night. More than one barrister related incidents of some murder trial in which he had been engaged, and tried to trace connections between them and the one which was now being tried.
If the issues were not so momentous, moreover, the way they discussed the question would have been amusing. Paul's life or death was to many of them a mere secondary consideration. To them he was a case, and they judged of the merits and demerits of the case as if it were some purely imaginary or academical affair especially manufactured for their delectation. It is true the judge did not look at it in this light, but he was not in a talkative humour that night, although he added a certain share to the conversation, and his presence gave a kind of éclat to the proceedings. They had reached the stage of nuts and wine, and most of them were in great good humour.
"I am inclined to think," said one, "that Stepaside has something up his sleeve. The fellow is as sharp as a needle, and although he hasn't yet offered anything like a defence, one can't believe that he was guilty of such a thing."
"I don't know," said another. "Of course, circumstantial evidence has often been proved to be false, nevertheless, a jury has to go upon such evidence as is adduced in court, and the evidence is damning!"
"Think of the point he made this afternoon when he cross-examined Mr. Wilson."
"I make nothing of that," said Mr. Bakewell rather pompously. "Of course, he put it strongly, and for the moment made a point, but that kind of thing is not going to save him!"
"Do you think, then," asked a member of the local Bar, "that the jury will find him guilty?"
"I do indeed," said Mr. Bakewell. "Even although he had a man like Montague Williams or Russell to defend him he would stand no chance. You see, the thing is a perfect chain of reasoning, because there is a perfect chain of events."
"Yes, but how can one think of such a man as Stepaside, keen as a surgeon's knife, cool as the devil himself, as watchful as a sleuth-hound, and having everything before him in the way of a career, so far committing himself as to use the knife known to belong to him, and then to leave it in the body. Why, the thing is absurd!"
"Exactly. But then the cleverest and most daring criminals in the world have been known to have done similar things. Why, think of that Blackburn murder in which I was engaged years ago. It was almost identical with this affair, and there was not the slightest doubt that he was guilty. Why, he confessed it to the chaplain afterwards. You must remember that Stepaside was in a mad passion at the time. Besides, you see, he's never accounted for those hours between midnight and six in the morning!"