When first made prisoner and incarcerated, he forwarded a letter to Mr. Grahame, in which he briefly stated that events had proved untoward, and called upon him to hasten to release him by some means from his dilemma.
No answer was returned to his epistle.
He wrote again, intimating that, unless his employer made his appearance, revelations would be made.
Still no answer. Chewkle was devoured with sickening anxiety, and dropped a line to his passionately attached friend Jukes, asking him to call upon Mr. Grahame, and wake him up. He gave him a few hints to use which would be likely to terrify the proud man, as coming from a stranger, and he signed himself “Old Chewk.” But Jukes was a rat who skulked from a sinking ship, so he burned the letter, and swore to himself that he had never received it.
Chewkle grew desperate at being thus deserted, and he gave Mr. Grahame, as he said, “one more chance;” in another and last epistle, he spoke out very plainly. He alluded to incitement to murder, of the forgery they had together committed, and he ended by informing Mr. Grahame that if he did not proceed instanter to “do the thing that was right,” he should make a clean breast of all. “And if I am lagged for life,” he said, “you shall go with me, even if we should be in the same gang, and chained together up to our buzzums in water, until one of us turns up his toes.” This more expressive than elegant epistle met with no better fate than the others.
Mr. Grahame was then where no missive or threat of Mr. Chewkle could reach him. Mr. Chewkle hoped against hope until the last moment; then he determined to give up Mr. Grahame’s name, and request of the authorities that that gentleman might be taken into custody. He did so on the morning of the examination, and was then informed that Mr. Grahame was dead, and also that the contents of his notes had been carefully perused before they had quitted the prison-doors.
Chewkle listened to this announcement with a spasm of agony. His future was before him—penal servitude for life, without a hope of escape.
So, when he appeared at the dock with haggard face, bloodshot eyes, shaggy brows, and stubbly beard, people in court shrunk back, and believed him quite capable of the crime with which he was charged.
The examination extended to no great length. Mr. Wilton, who acted the patrician with consummate art, gave his evidence in a somewhat stately and rambling manner; but Vivian, whose looks realised all the expectations of the fair owners of the many bright eyes turned upon him, recounted his share in the transaction with a clear conciseness and a modesty which elicited encomium from the counsel for the prosecution, and a compliment from the magistrates. Other evidence was produced; and Mr. Chewkle—who, under the advice of his solicitor, said nothing, and nothing exculpatory had he to say—was fully committed for trial at the next assizes, which, however, were not due for some two or three months to come. Mr. Chewkle was, therefore, consigned to gaol to await that period; and Mr. Wilton, attended by his son and Lester Vane, returned back to Harleydale Hall.
They did not encounter Mr. Vivian. He was nowhere to be seen—though Mark had looked for him, and Lester Vane too—until he was called upon to give his evidence, then he suddenly rose up in the vicinity of the witness-box, as if by magic, performed the duty required of him, and retired, to be no more visible to the eyes which searched for him that day.