“Now, my dear boy,” he said, with the same frankness as before—“don’t you be foolish. Frankly—I believe you to be innocent; but these beggars don’t—and you’ll get yourself into a devil of a hole, and give yourself away most gloriously, if you try to conduct the case yourself. This chap from Scotland Yard is an ass—but he’s vindictive; the Coroner is in a hurry, and is dead against you. On the other hand—have the goodness to consider my position. This is my first chance—absolutely my first. I’ve read up the case, day by day, and I know it by heart; I may do you a lot of good—and I shall make my own fortune. To-morrow morning in all the newspapers—Andrew Banks—rising young barrister—badgered the Coroner—turned the witnesses inside out—played Old Harry with the police; don’t you see? Now—all you have to do is to sit quiet, and look virtuous; I’ll lay out Mr. Coroner, for the benefit of the yokels, in a brace of shakes.”
He was gone again, back to his place at the table, before Philip Chater had even time to thank him, or to remonstrate further; and the real business of the inquest began. In the first place, appeared the two countrymen who had found the body; and who contradicted each other in minor points of detail, and were hopelessly confused by that rising young barrister Mr. Andrew Banks—so much so, that, at the end of five minutes, they were half disposed to believe that the one had committed the murder, and the other made an attempt to hide the body. And so sat down, greatly confused.
Next came Betty Siggs—making a deeper impression than she would willingly have done against the man who stood watching her. For, after a question or two, old Betty turned suddenly to that quiet figure, and stretched out her hands, and appealed to him, in a voice shaken by sobs.
“For God’s sake—let me speak; let me tell what I know,” she said; and, though she spoke in a whisper, the silence about her was so deep and solemn that the lightest breath of that whisper was heard. “For the sake of the old days—let me say what you and I alone know—let me—my dear—my dear!”
Unfortunately, it had the very opposite effect to that which Betty intended; for there seemed to be at once established between these two some terrible affinity in the crime, which made it more horrible. Nor did the young barrister improve matters; for, wholly at a loss to understand to what she referred he began to urge her to tell all she knew—even to threaten her with dire penalties, in the event of non-compliance.
But that only made matters worse; she cast one swift look in the direction of Philip, and read in his face that she must be silent; turned on the young and ardent man of law—and defied him.
“Don’t you think, young man—as you’re agoin’ to open my mouth—because you ain’t. I loved this poor young gel, as though she’d been a child o’ my own; but I swear to you, before God, that the man who stands there knew nothing of it, and is absolutely innocent. Toby—my angel—vote for ’im—if you love me!”
Toby answered with a responsive growl, and Mrs. Siggs sat down. Nor would the pleadings of the Coroner—the threats of Tokely—or the suavity of the young barrister move her; she read in the face from which she took her inspiration that she must be silent—and the rack itself would not have moved her.
Came the medical man, who gave his evidence grimly enough, in technical terms which yet sent a shudder through the listening crowd. He had examined the body, and, in answer to a question from the Coroner, gave it as his opinion—and with certainty—that the unfortunate girl, at the time of her death was near the period when she would have given birth to a child; struck a more deadly blow at the prisoner, by describing, in callous medical phraseology, the wound which had been inflicted, and the lingering death which followed. At the end of that evidence, there was not a man nor woman in the place that would not have shrieked “Murderer!” at him, whatever the verdict of the jury might be.
Some little sensation was created by the appearance of Harry Routley, the young servant of Dandy Chater; who—tackled by the Inspector, and keeping his eyes resolutely turned from the man whose life he was swearing away, gave his evidence in little more than monosyllables; but gave it in damning quality enough, even at that. Some greater sensation, too, was caused, by his turning swiftly to the prisoner, in the midst of the questions of the Inspector, and holding out his hands to Philip in an agony of appeal; and then covering his face with them.