‘It is.’
There followed a burst of cheering which the usher could not silence, but which silenced itself as the judge was seen to be speaking. ‘John Harden—I am thankful, every man in this court is thankful, that your trust in the mercy and power of the All-merciful and All-powerful has not been in vain. You stand acquitted of a foul crime by the unhesitating verdict of the jury, and most wonderful has been your deliverance. You go forth a free man; and I am glad to think that the goodness of God has been bestowed on one who has repented of his past sins, and who is not likely, I hope and believe, to be unmindful of that goodness hereafter.—You are discharged.’
Had he been left to himself, I think the prisoner’s old master would have climbed into the dock, with the view of personally delivering his servant out of the house of bondage. But he was restrained by a sympathetic constable, while John Harden was re-conveyed for a short time to the jail, to undergo certain necessary formalities connected with his release from custody. I volunteered to take charge of Mr Slocum, and took him to the vestibule of the prison, overwhelmed during the short walk by thanks and praises. We were soon joined by Harden, whose meeting with his master brought a lump into the throat even of a tough criminal lawyer like myself. I saw them into a cab, and they drove off to Mr Slocum’s hotel, after promising to call on me next day, and enlighten me on certain points as to which I was still in the dark.
As strange a part of my story as any, has yet to be told. I had hardly got back to my office and settled down to read over the various letters which were awaiting my signature, when my late client (Harden’s prosecutor) was announced. I had lost sight of him in the excitement which followed the acquittal. He did not wait to learn whether I was engaged or not, but rushed after the clerk into my room. He was ashen white, or rather gray, and his knees shook so that he could scarcely stand; but his eyes positively blazed with wrath. Leaning over my table, he proceeded, in the presence of the astonished clerk, to pour upon me a flood of abuse and invective of the foulest kind. I had sold him; I was in league with the prisoner. I was a swindling thief of a lawyer, whom he would have struck off the rolls, &c.; until I really thought he had gone out of his mind.
As soon as I could get in a word, I curtly explained that it was no part of a lawyer’s duty to try and hang a man whom he knew to be innocent. As he only replied with abusive language, I ordered him out of the office. The office quieted itself once more—being far too busy, and also too well accustomed to eccentric people to have time for long wonderment at anything—and in an hour I had finished my work, and was preparing to leave for home, when another visitor was announced—Inspector Forrester.
‘Well, Mr Forrester, what’s the matter now? I’m just going off.’
‘Sorry if I put you out of the way, sir; but I thought you’d like to hear what’s happened. The prosecutor in Harden’s case has given himself up for the murder!’
‘What?’ I shouted.
‘He just has, sir. It’s a queer day, this is. When I heard you get up and give evidence for the man you were prosecuting, I thought curiosities was over for ever; but seems they ain’t, and never will be.’
‘How was it?’