But more inexplicable was it to Edward that in the description given by Brill of the man who had bought the knife no one should have recognized the portrait of Mr. Hazeldine. He had recognized it in a moment, but all the others, having had their minds imbued with the idea that the description must of necessity apply to John Brancker, had failed to discover the other likeness--all except Ephraim Judd. Brill's account had given him a clue to something which had hitherto puzzled him not a little. "Now, I can guess it all," he muttered under his breath. "I wonder whether anyone suspects besides myself." Henceforward for him the tragedy had a double meaning.
Both Mr. Hazeldine and John Brancker belonged to the staid, old-fashioned school of bank officials. They were sober in their ways and sober in their attire. There was no great dissimilarity in their ages, and in the course of years John, without being consciously aware of it, had got into the way of copying his superior officer both in manner and dress: so that, under the circumstances, the mistake made not only by Brill, but by those who knew both the men, was hardly to be wondered at, however unfortunate it might prove to be for one of them.
There being no further evidence forthcoming, the Coroner proceeded to sum up the case. It was not his fault that nearly all the evidence seemed to point to one conclusion. He stated the facts as he found them, and strove in no way to bias the minds of the jury.
The jury retired at twenty minutes past five and were away forty minutes. Much eager whispered conversation went on during their absence, but no one attempted to leave the room. Everyone felt the intensity of the strain. John Brancker sat perfectly still, staring into vacancy, with his hands crossed over the knob of his umbrella. Edward Hazeldine sat like a man in a stupor, heedless of all that was going on around him. Mr. Prestwich took snuff and conversed with the Coroner in undertones. There was a momentary rustle, and then a dead silence fell upon the room as the jury filed back to their seats, and returned a verdict of wilful murder against John Brancker.
A ghastly pallor overspread John's face as the words fell upon his ears. They surely could not be meant to apply to him! His lips formed themselves to speak, but no sound came from them. Oh! to think--to think that anyone could for a moment believe his was the hand which had struck so foul a blow! Then he bowed his head and waited, while two or three scalding tears dropped unseen on his crossed hands.
Edward Hazeldine strode across the room and grasped John by the hand. "Mr. Brancker," he said, "I am profoundly grieved at what has happened here to-day. From the bottom of my heart I believe you to be an innocent man. This verdict seems to me a most monstrous one--one which will never be sustained by that higher tribunal to which your case will now be relegated. Believe me, I would stake my life on your innocence."
John grasped the hand that lay in his. His momentary burst of emotion had relieved his overcharged feelings. His courage was coming back to him. "Thank you, sincerely, Mr. Edward, for your kind words," he said as he stood up. "They have taken a great weight off my heart. The world can hardly believe me guilty when it knows that you have faith in my innocence."
At this moment Clement Hazeldine came pushing his way through the crowd. He had been unable to get there before. He was inexpressibly shocked at the news which had just been told him. He, too, grasped John by the hand, and assured him in warm terms of his thorough confidence in his innocence.
"Now I can face whatever has yet to come," said John, with the ghost of a smile on his quivering lips. "But who is to break the news to my sister, and--and to Hermia?"
"I will do that, if you will allow me," answered Clement, gently.