Sir Almeric, who is very tired by now, and who knows that to-morrow he will have to make a long, clear speech to the stolid jury, does not re-examine, and when, after two hours in the witness-box, Harry Garlett goes back to the dock, he is mercifully quite unaware that, had there been the slightest doubt in anybody’s mind as to his guilt, he might have been kept in that box for four or five hours.
V
And now opens the second day of the trial of Henry Garlett on the charge of having murdered his wife. The crowds round the doors of the Assize Court are almost as large as ever, and yet there is not the same feeling of excitement that there was on the first day.
For one thing, all the most important witnesses have already been in the box. For another, the trial, though the verdict is regarded as a foregone conclusion, is not expected to conclude till to-morrow. A good many unimportant witnesses have still to be examined, among them a number of well-known men, each of whom, when the issue of the trial appeared far more uncertain than it does now, had expressed themselves willing to tender evidence as to “character.” These gentlemen will testify that is, that they have always regarded Henry Garlett as a high-minded man, the best of good fellows, and so on.
After all these minor witnesses have been called, examined, cross-examined, and re-examined, then Sir Almeric Post will begin his address to the jurymen. Though it is known that Sir Almeric never cuts a speech short, it is thought he will finish in time to allow Sir Harold to make a start to-day. Sir Harold’s speeches to a jury are a delight to listen to, but there seems some doubt as to whether the famous advocate, who is known not to like interrupting a great oration in the middle, may not so manoeuvre matters, with the kindly connivance of his brother in the law, Sir Almeric, as to put off the beginning of his speech till to-morrow morning.
Yes, to-morrow is likely to be a very exciting day! There will be Sir Harold’s pathetic powerful plea for the murderer; the clear summing-up by the judge, who, although an old man, has his wits keenly about him; and then the jury’s retirement, maybe for quite a short time, maybe for a long time—one can never tell which, even when the verdict is a foregone conclusion.
However, as was said a great, great many times—perhaps a million times by various men and women all over the kingdom that same evening and the next morning—it is the unexpected in life that very often happens, and makes the best-laid plans go wrong.
Behold the Court assembled, the galleries full to bursting, but the ladies in the reserved seats are not all of them quite so distinguished-looking as those who graced the first day of the trial. On the other hand, two noted novelists—one a man the other a woman—have come down from London to be present at the closing scenes.
The judge has just taken his seat, but the prisoner has not yet been brought up from below into the dock, when Sir Harold Anstey rises and asks to be heard.
“I have received, my lord, a very important communication,” he says, in a tone of such marked gravity that every one stiffens into attention.