“Mr. Nimble,” said his Lordship solemnly, “he might have shown he was elsewhere.”
“Yes, my lord; but the prisoner admits being present: he doesn’t set up an alibi.”
“Gentlemen, you hear what the learned counsel says: he admits that the prisoner was present; that is corroborative of the story told by the prosecutrix. Now, if you find a witness speaking truthfully about one part of a transaction, what are you to infer with regard to the rest? Gentlemen, the case is for you, and not for me: happily I have not to find the facts: they are for you—and what are they? This woman, who is an ironer, was going along a lonely lane, proceeding to her home, as she states—and again I say there is no contradiction—and she meets this man; he accosts her, and then, according to her account, assaults her, and in a manner which I think leaves no doubt of his intention—but that is for you. I say he assaults her, if you believe her story: of course, if you do not believe her story, then in the absence of corroboration there would be an end of the case. But is there an absence of corroboration? What do we find, gentlemen? Now let me read to you the evidence of Police Constable Swearhard. What does he say? ‘I was coming along the Lover’s Lane at nine
twenty-five, and I saw two persons, whom I afterwards found to be the prosecutrix and the prisoner.’ ‘You will mark that, gentlemen, the prisoner himself does not suggest an alibi, that is to say, that he was elsewhere, when this event occurred. Then he was upon the spot: and the policeman tells you—it is for you to say whether you believe the policeman or not; there is no suggestion that he is not a witness of truth—and he says that he heard a scream, and caught the defendant in the act. Now, from whom did that scream proceed? Not from the prisoner, for it was the scream of a woman. From whom then could it proceed but from the prosecutrix? Now, in all cases of this kind, one very material point has always been relied on by the Judges, and that point is this: What was the conduct of the woman? Did she go about her ordinary business as usual, or did she make a complaint? If she made no complaint, or made it a long time after, it is some evidence—not conclusive by any means—but it is some evidence against the truth of her story. Let us test this case by that theory. What is the evidence of the policeman? I will read his words: ‘The moment I got up,’ he says, now mark that, gentlemen, ‘the woman complained of the conduct of the prisoner: she screamed and threw herself in my arms and then nearly fainted.’ Gentlemen, what does all that mean? You will say by your verdict.”
“Consider your verdict,” said the Clerk of Arraigns, and almost immediately the Jury said: “Guilty of attempt.”
“Call upon him,” said the Judge: and he was called upon accordingly, but only said “the prosecutrix was a well-known bad woman.”
Then the Judge said very solemnly:—
“Prisoner at the bar, you have been convicted upon
the clearest possible evidence of this crime: what you say about the character of the prosecutrix the more convinces me that you are a very bad man. You not only assail the virtue of this woman, but, happily prevented in your design, you endeavour to destroy it afterwards in this Court. No one who has heard this case can doubt that you have been guilty of this very grave offence; and in my judgment that offence is aggravated by the fact that you committed it against her will and without her consent. The sentence is that you be sent to prison for eighteen calendar months.”
“Rather warm,” said Mr. O’Rapley.