"None shall be spared. I have written to Sir Richard Mayne, whom I know very well, asking for a certain detective officer whoso experience I can rely on from past dealings; and if the dastardly wretch lives who has done this deed, and thrown the brunt of it on Atherton, he or she shall be hunted down and brought to justice. I must be off now. The proceedings to-day will be but nominal. I will come round by your office on my way back. What we have to do at present is to gain time. For this we must [{456}] prepare all the contrary evidence in our power against to-morrow. By the way, see Wilmot as soon as you can, and bring him back with you."
I returned home; wrote a few words, as comforting and encouraging as I could, to Ada, and despatched a messenger with the note; then I went to the Albany and asked for Lister Wilmot. He was out; had been summoned to the police-court to be present at the inquiry. I left my card, with a pencilled injunction to come on to me the moment he returned; and then, impelled by a horrible fascination, I took my way toward Marylebone street, longing, yet dreading, to see and hear--my heart aching for a sight of the manly form and noble face of him to whom my soul had cleaved as to a brother.
There was a dense crowd outside the gates of the courtyard and round the private door through which the magistrates enter, when I arrived there. With my hat slouched over my brows, I made my way through with difficulty to the door of the court where the proceedings were going on,--the noise and din of the crowd buzzing about me, and scraps of talk which goes on in such places and among such people as collect there, reaching me in broken snatches.
"Who'd ha' thought he'd a done it? such a nice-looking chap as er is."
"Yer see, it's the money as he wanted. The old man was mortal rich; they say the Bank of England couldn't 'old 'is money. Yes, the gowld did it."
"Pisen! Ah, he'd be glad of pisen hisself now. What's that feller sayin'? Oh, that's the lawyer wot's defending him. He'll have tough work, he will."
"Remanded!--that's the way; why can't they commit him at once? Givin' folks all the trouble to come twice afore they knows what to do with un."
"'Ere he comes. Now, six-footer, who pisened the old man?"
And then came groans and hisses as the mob were made to open and divide themselves, whilst policemen cleared the way for the prisoner--yes, it had come to that--the prisoner!--to pass to the van waiting for him. I looked up as he advanced,--we were almost of the same height, he and I; taller perhaps by some inches than the majority around, who were mostly women,--and our eyes met. O God! shall I ever forget the look he gave me? Pale and calm and firm, he passed on--his noble brow erect, his clear eyes shining with the light of conscious innocence; with the whole expression of his countenance subdued--hallowed, I might say--with the sorrow and trouble which had befallen him. On he came, heedless of the hisses and jeers of the fallen degraded herd who pressed round; heedless of the jibes and groans uttered by the companions of those for whom, more then likely, his genial voice had been raised in defence, in pleading against the justice they deserved, but which he had never merited. On he came, unmindful of everything that was going on about him, as if his spirit were faraway, communing with that unseen Presence that was never absent from his mind. I lifted my hat and stood bareheaded as he passed into that dark dismal van that was polluted with the breath, contaminated by the touch, of men whose hands were dyed by the blackest crimes.
When it had driven off I turned away and hailed a passing cab. Just as I was stepping into it I was arrested by the sound of a voice near me.