"Yes, but no prisoner charged for murder is obliged to account for his time."
"Exactly, but a jury has to give its verdict upon evidence. And remember this, too," and Mr. Bakewell would not perhaps have spoken so freely had his tongue not been unloosed by the generous wine he had been drinking. "Remember this, too, and, of course, we are all friends here, and what I say will not go beyond this room—but the evidence to-morrow will surprise you!"
"In what way?"
"Well, one of the witnesses to-morrow will swear that he saw him not half a mile from Howden Clough, in a state of excitement, about five o'clock on the morning of the murder, that is to say, about half an hour after it took place, according to the doctor's evidence. You see, we have the servants' testimony that they heard him come up to the top storey of the house; that he stood at their bedroom door and then went down again; that they, wondering what had happened, followed, and saw him go out into the night alone. Of course, on the face of it, it does seem unlikely that a clever fellow such as Stepaside undoubtedly is, with a great career possible for him, should have done the deed so clumsily. But, don't you see, everything points to him, and unless he brings some extraordinary witnesses on the other side, which he isn't trying to do, mind you, the jury have no alternative but to find him guilty."
"My own belief is that he's hiding something in his sleeve, and that if he's hanged it'll be a miscarriage of justice."
A waiter then came into the room bearing a slip of paper, which he took to Judge Bolitho. The judge received it calmly and unfolded it, talking meanwhile to his neighbour at the table. After reading a few lines, however, a puzzled expression came on to his face, which was followed by a look almost amounting to terror. More than one who watched him thought he saw his hands tremble somewhat; nevertheless, he held himself in check, like one who was trying to appear to be calm, as he read it the second time. The men who were at the bottom of the table went on with their stories, but Judge Bolitho evidently did not listen. His mind was far away. His cigar had gone out, too, but he did not seem conscious of it.
"I wonder what is in that letter?" asked a man of his neighbour, as he watched the judge's face.
"Oh, there's no knowing. Fellows in Bolitho's position are always getting queer missives."
"He looks mighty uncomfortable, anyhow."
The judge took a wineglass in his hand and began toying with it, but it was evident that he did not know what he was doing.