The Bail Jumper

by Robert J. C. Stead

After the great fact of the assize itself interest centred mainly in the case of King v. Burton, and the hot discussions in the pool-rooms and the lobby of the post office over the young man’s guilt or innocence had given rise to two opposing factions. The first of these held that Burton was innocent, and would appear to stand his trial at the proper time; the second declared that he was guilty, and had “skipped the country for good.” And it was interesting to note how the townspeople and country people lined up on the two sides of the controversy. It was a virtual dividing of the sheep and the goats. Those who held high views of life and embraced all humanity in a kindly sympathy were assured that Burton would be back to face his trial, and even that his innocence would be established; while that other class of people who find it easier and more to their tastes to believe evil than good were equally certain that the young man had disappeared from Plainville for ever. And among those who held the latter belief it must be said were a few who would have preferred to believe otherwise, but whose judgment had forced them to the unpleasant conclusion. There was Mr. Sempter, of the Sempter Trading Company, who secretly held Burton in high regard; there were the Grant boys, who openly—and especially before their cousin—avowed their confidence in Burton, but who in their hearts were at a loss to understand his disappearance; and there was Gardiner, who at first had stoutly maintained the innocence of his former employee, but had at last admitted that he could no longer believe him guiltless. There, too, was a third faction which explained Burton’s absence on the theory that some mishap which had not yet come to light had befallen him. This was a comfortable position for those who did not wish to antagonise either of the other parties, as it left the question of Burton’s innocence or guilt out of the discussion. This was the belief espoused by the local newspaper, the church organisations, and such other institutions as felt that it would be bad business to give offence to any section of the community.

The great day of the opening of the assizes at last arrived. During the night it rained heavily, and the streets and roads were deep with mud, but the clouds scattered about nine o’clock and the sun looked through on the crowds filing down to the court house. The judge read his charge to the grand jury, and the grand jury at once proceeded to find in accordance with the thinly-veiled wishes expressed in the charge. The Court then adjourned to resume its sitting at two o’clock that afternoon.

As the hour drew near the spirits of those who had to the last hoped for Burton’s reappearance in the nick of time fell under the depression of a conviction which for months they had been trying to fight off. John Burton’s Scotch pride had at last given away to paternal attachment, and he engaged Bradshaw, the lawyer, to appear in defence of his son. The lawyer’s office had become the gathering place of the steadily diminishing group who were still hoping against hope, but as the minutes wore by the hope changed to despondency. In Burton’s absence they could read only an admission of his guilt—an admission which cut loyal hearts deeper than any sentence which might have been pronounced over his protestations of innocence.

The court house was packed long before the afternoon session commenced; and when the judge had taken his seat on the bench and the first case, King v. Burton, was called an intensity of excitement prevailed in the room which seemed even to reach the officers of the law. It was not that the crime charged was so exceptional, but the reluctance of many good people to believe in Burton’s guilt and the mystery of his sudden and complete disappearance had pitched public interest to its highest key. Many rumours had been in circulation within the last few hours; rumours that Burton had returned during the night, that he had been in the custody of the police since July and would be produced at the proper moment, that he had been drowned in the lake, that he had been seen in a far western town—all of these and more were flying about in the air and adding to the confusion of the public mind. But at last the moment had come; something definite was to be done, or said, or ascertained, and as many of the townspeople, with a sprinkling of interested ones from the country, as could crowd into the building were agog to know whatever could be known.

Down in the little box where the lawyers sat someone was speaking in a low tone which reached only to the officials of the court. Then the deep voice of the judge filled the room.

“So the accused has not appeared for trial? Let him be called three times.”

The court crier cleared his throat and shouted in a raucous voice, “Raymond Burton! Raymond Burton! Raymond Burton!”

A hush that could be felt fell over the assembled people. For a full minute there was absolute silence.

It was the judge who spoke again. “Bonds were no doubt given for the appearance of this Burton at trial?”

An official answered, “Yes, my lord.”