‘No, sir, I ain’t more delirious than your worship. My body has been all of a shiver—hot fits and cold fits—but thank God my mind has kep’ clear.’
‘You really must not tell us about your ailments. What do you know of the prisoner?’
‘Only that he’s as innocent as that lamb, yonder,’ said Mrs. Evitt, pointing to a baby in the arms of a forlorn looking drab, from the adjacent rookeries of St. Giles’s, which had just set up a shrill squall, and was in process of being evicted by a policeman. ‘He had no more to do with it than that blessed infant that’s just been carried out of court.’
And then, continually beginning to wander, and being continually pulled up sharp by the magistrate, Mrs. Evitt told her ghastly story of the handful of iron-grey hair, and the blood-stained dressing-gown, hidden in the closet behind the bed in her two-pair back.
‘Which is there to this day, as the police may find for themselves if they like to go and look,’ concluded Mrs. Evitt.
‘They will take care to do that,’ said the magistrate. ‘Where is this Desrolles?’
‘He is being looked for, sir,’ replied Mr. Leopold. ‘If your worship will permit, there are two gentlemen in court who are in possession of facts that have a material bearing on this case.’
‘Let them be sworn.’
The first of these two voluntary witnesses was Mr. Joseph Lemuel, the well-known stockbroker and millionaire, on whose appearance in the witness-box there was a sudden hush in the court, and profound attention from every one, as at the presence of greatness.
Even that tag-rag and bob-tail from adjacent St. Giles’s had heard of Joseph Lemuel. His name had been in the penny newspapers. He was a man who was supposed to make a million of money every time there was war in Europe, and to lose a million whenever there was a financial crisis.