So we adjourned. At least, some of us did. The prisoner was taken away. I heard them removing him behind me. Most of the counsel removed themselves, and some of the people. The greater part of us who stayed set to eating. Sandwiches were produced and other things. Mysterious refreshments were brought in from without. I had my own little store. Everybody chattered. It was quite a festive scene.
"Call Alexander Taunton!"
Proceedings recommenced by a repetition of the words. But again he did not come.
"Alexander Taunton!"
One heard the name shouted by different voices, apparently in different passages and at different doors. Still none answered. The delay ruffled the judge's feelings.
"What does this witness mean by keeping the court waiting? Where is he?"
Sir Haselton Jardine's colleague rose with the apparent intention of personally assisting in the search.
"Here he is," said some one.
And there he was. I almost dropped from my seat.
Who should get into the box but Reginald Townsend's Corsican brother, Jack Haines's private detective, who had told me that his name was Stewart Trevannion.