“It would take a more penetrating intellect than mine to see that,” Herriard returned, with ill-humoured sarcasm.
“At least let me try to put it to you,” Gastineau rejoined, with a smile at the other’s temper. “Now, take the position dispassionately. First of all, what are you going for? To clear Countess Alexia’s reputation of the slander that has touched it. That, I grant you, with this man Campion’s evidence you would have done triumphantly—if it had withstood all the hot attacks which would have been made upon it. The evidence he would have given, had he lived, is now common knowledge; his narrative, his uncontradicted narrative, has been published by enterprising journalists; everybody knows it. So you stand in the position to-day of having got your examination-in-chief before the public without any chance of cross-examination by the other side. Is not that a score? You have succeeded in getting the world’s sympathy for your interesting client, and it will be augmented rather than diminished by this unlooked-for incident, which will assuredly be regarded as a cruel blow.”
“As it is,” Herriard murmured; beginning, however, to see the cloud’s bright side.
“Of course,” Gastineau agreed; “but it won’t hurt you. It is far, far better for you than one shaky answer in the witness-box. Yes; to sum up, you have the status quo ante, with the sympathy transferred to your side, the dead man’s uncontradicted, and, now, uncontradictable, evidence on record in the public mind. And you must remember that, in a case of this sort, it is the public, not the jury, which gives the real verdict. Yes, my dear Geof, you are to be congratulated, or, at least, the Countess is. Come! confess you see it.”
“Oh, yes,” Herriard answered, recovering somewhat from the blankness of his discomfiture; “I admit we are in a far better position now than before Campion turned up. Still, I cannot agree that we gain by his death. I am absolutely convinced that his evidence would have remained unshaken before Macvee’s big guns; and I cannot understand why you have all along taken such a prejudiced view of the poor man and the genuineness of his testimony.”
“It is scarcely worth while discussing it now,” Gastineau replied, with a half yawn. “I am quite ready to admit that I may have been utterly wrong. Had it not been for the seriousness of the issue I could be sorry that the question of the stability of his evidence can never now be settled. As it is we may consign the question to the limbo of the great undecided, and rest content with the gain it has brought us. I suppose the poor fellow was dead when picked up?”
“No,” Herriard answered; “he lived for ten minutes, and was able to give an account of the accident. It appears he was running after a cab, in which he had recognized again the man we are in search of, the man who is supposed to have killed Martindale. In his excitement poor Campion failed to notice a hansom which swung out of Berkeley Street, and ran him down.”
“H’m! I quite agree with you, it is a pity,” Gastineau observed, in an indifferently sceptical tone; “a pity that the all-important Mr. Campion has come to so unromantic an end. It would have been highly interesting to have seen what sort of a figure he would have cut in the witness-box, with Joshua Standish Macvee for a vis-à-vis.”
“I can imagine but one result,” Herriard replied, with a dry reserve. “Well, I am going on to Green Street to do what I can to lighten this blow. Your view of the matter will at least help me to do that.”
“Yes,” Gastineau agreed; “I think you may venture to congratulate Countess Alexia. The reckless cabby did your client no bad turn.”