The minister did not speak at all, did not even raise his eyes to meet the glance of Searle. His gaze was fixed as his mind was fascinated by the mystery of the last lone envelope.
"Not yet," replied Searle significantly to Wadham's interjection, but instead of disappointment there was that quality in his tones which heightens and intensifies expectancy. At the same time he took up the envelope by one end, but, under the weight of something within, the paper bent surprisingly in the middle and the lower end swung pendant and baglike, accompanied by the slightest perceptible metallic sound. Every member of the group of witnesses leaned forward with an involuntary start. Triumph flooded the face of Searle. With his left hand he seized the heavy, bag-like end and raised it while the envelope was turned in his fingers bringing into view the printing in the corner.
"This envelope bears the name and address of the Reverend John Hampstead," he announced in formal tones. "I now open it in your presence."
Nervously the Assistant District Attorney tore off the end of the envelope, squinted within, and exclaimed: "It contains—" His voice halted for an instant while he dramatically tipped the envelope toward the table and a string of fire flowed out and lay quivering before the eyes of all—"the Dounay diamonds!"
The jewels, trembling under the impulse of the movement by which they had been deposited upon the table, sparkled as if with resentful brilliance at having been thus darkly immured, and for an appreciable interval they compelled the attention of all; then every eye was turned upon the accused minister.
But these inquisitorial glances came too late. Amazement, bewilderment, a sense of outrage, and hot indignation, had been reeled across the screen of his features; but that was in the ticking seconds while the gaze of all was on the envelope and then upon the diamonds and their aggressive scintillations. Now the curious eyes rested upon a man who, after a moment in which to think, had visioned himself surrounded and overwhelmed by circumstances that were absolutely damning,—his own conduct of the last few minutes the most damning of all. His face was as white as the paper of the envelope which contained the irrefutable evidence. His eyes revolved uncertainly and then went questioningly from face to face in the circle round him as if for confirmation of the conclusion to which the logic of his own mind forced him irresistibly. In not one was that confirmation wanting.
"But," he protested wildly, and then his glance broke down. "It has come," he murmured hoarsely, covering his face with his hands. "It has come!"
His cross had come!
Some odd, disastrous chain of sequences which he had not yet had time to reason out had fixed this crime on him. By another equally disastrous chain of sequences, he must bear its guilt or be false to his confessor's vow. Especially must he bear it, if he would shield that doting mother who trusted him and loved him.
As if to hold himself together, he clasped his arms before him, and his chin sunk forward on his breast. As if to accustom his mind to the new view from which he must look out upon the world, he closed his eyes. The heaving chest, the tense jaws, the quivering lips, and the mop of hair that fell disheveled round his temples, all combined to make up the convincing picture of a strong man breaking.