The servant alone has been examined—asked to confess all he knows, and what he has to say for himself. It is no use putting questions to his master.
Phelim has told his tale—too strange to be credited; though the strangest part of it—that relating to his having seen a horseman without ahead—is looked upon as the least improbable!
He cannot explain it; and his story but strengthens the suspicion already aroused—that the spectral apparition is a part of the scheme of murder!
“All stuff his tales about tiger-fights and Indians!” say those to whom he has been imparting them. “A pack of lies, contrived to mislead us—nothing else.”
The trial has lasted scarce ten minutes; and yet the jury have come to their conclusion.
In the minds of most—already predisposed to it—there is a full conviction that Henry Poindexter is a dead man, and that Maurice Gerald is answerable for his death.
Every circumstance already known has been reconsidered; while to these have been added the new facts discovered at the jacalé—the ugliest of which is the finding of the cloak and hat.
The explanations given by the Galwegian, confused and incongruous, carry no credit. Why should they? They are the inventions of an accomplice.
There are some who will scarce stay to hear them—some who impatiently cry out, “Let the murderer be hanged!”
As if this verdict had been anticipated, a rope lies ready upon the ground, with a noose at its end. It is only a lazo; but for the purpose Calcraft could not produce a more perfect piece of cord.