He spent quite a long time over the various
matters about which he might or might not satisfy the Court, and then he paused and said there was one specific case of bribery which, if the witness was believed by the Court, would invalidate the election. The name of the witness was John Francis Green. Murphy himself had never believed in the fellow, but he agreed that if when we saw John Francis Green he turned out to be a witness of truth, then the petition was well founded.
The mystery of John Francis Green is like the problem of the “dark lady” in the Sonnets. Some will believe one thing about it and some another. The Court refused to believe him at all, and it may be that he was merely a romancer and a liar. On the other hand, his story may have been partly built up from facts relating not necessarily to this election, but to some municipal or other contest. Certainly it was an extraordinary story for a man to invent at the risk of being found guilty of perjury, and with the necessity of giving up his business in Ardwick. True, he was to receive £200, but only if he gave truthful evidence, a not unreasonable arrangement, as Ardwick would not have held him if the result of his evidence had been to invalidate the election.
The first day’s evidence was devoted to one case after another that more or less broke down and could not be proved. Then we received news that John Francis Green had disappeared. He had been ill for some days, and we adjourned without knowing whether he would turn up or not. The next day he did turn up, a miserable figure muffled up to the chin
and looking wretchedly ill. Some said his illness was mere funk at having to tell his false story in the witness-box, but there was even then opportunity to go back and speak the truth. However, he told his story on oath exactly as he had given it to Professor Munro’s supporters.
He was a barber in Ardwick, and had many times shaved Mr. Chesters Thompson. He said that one of Mr. Balfour’s supporters often came to his shop and talked to him, and on one occasion gave him £15 and a letter of instructions, and later on a man he did not know, but who said he was an election agent, had given him £7. This money Green was to hand over to people who presented him tickets, and these tickets he described in great detail. There were several names on them, and some had sealing-wax and a ribbon attached to them. After the election some of the tickets and incriminating letters which remained with him were, according to Green’s statement, kept by him in a box, and towards the end of October his house was broken into and the box stolen. That in itself was enough to make one disbelieve his story, but when it was found that he could not identify any one of Mr. Balfour’s supporters as the election agent, it was clear that in the absence of corroboration his evidence must be dismissed as useless.
Mr. Murphy now took the only course open to him, and said he could not usefully continue the petition. Mr. Maltby, Mr. Balfour’s agent, Mr. Chesters Thompson, and others went into the witness-box
and formally denied all knowledge of Green and his extraordinary story. The Court adjourned until the afternoon to deliver judgment, and I took Murphy up to the Brasenose Club.
It was about noon, the club was empty, and Murphy reclined on a sofa, and disappeared behind the Times. Very soon the paper boys began to yell out “Kerlapse of the Pertition!” “Kerlapse of the Pertition!” I knew I should have to stand much chaff and friendly abuse over the petition, as in all clubs where there are no politics eighty per cent. of the members were Tory, and it is only the remainder who must not indulge in political discussion. And sure enough, in rushed Freemantle, the musical critic, waving a paper and calling out to me, “Here’s nice work! Here’s a disgraceful affair to be connected with! Apart from politics altogether, did you ever read of such a wicked and abominable conspiracy to destroy a political opponent? Of course, I know you have had nothing to do with it, but I should just like to be face to face with the ruffian who put this wretched case forward!”
“You shall,” I said, and pulling down the Times I disclosed my learned leader and introduced him to Freemantle. “Mr. Murphy—Mr. Freemantle.” As I strolled away I felt Murphy was shaking with gentle laughter to a running accompaniment of Freemantle’s explanations and apologies.