Another Man's Shoes

by Victor Bridges

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Of the rest of the proceedings I could not, even if I wished to, give a very clear or detailed account. All the time Milford had been telling his story my attention had been so eagerly concentrated on his words that the reaction when he had finished left me curiously indifferent as to what the others might say. I only know I listened vaguely and in a restless fever of impatience. Milford's evidence had so plainly carried conviction to everyone in court that I knew my dismissal from the unpleasantly prominent part which I now occupied was only a matter of time. Even I could tell that the questions which the prosecuting counsel was putting were intended to clear up minor points rather than to cast any real doubt on the truth of Milford's narrative. Whatever the police might think about my conduct and character, they were obviously no longer under the delusion that I was a murderer.

It was another, and to me far more important, question than that of my immediate liberty which now occupied my thoughts. Ever since Gordon had leaned over and whispered to me that neither Billy nor Mercia were in court, a deep uneasiness had been lurking at the back of my mind. While Milford had been giving his evidence I had been too interested to think much of anything else; but now the tension was relaxed, all my previous anxiety about Mercia's safety returned with double intensity.

I looked slowly and carefully round the court to make certain that Gordon was right. Face after face that I knew stood out in turn before my eyes. I caught sight of the immaculately dressed figure of Lord Lammersfield leaning back in his seat, his arms folded—a cynical smile on his lips. A little farther on was the old gentleman who had unconsciously coached me for my first Company meeting. He was bending forward eagerly, his hand to his ear, as though unwilling to miss a single word of the case. York and his sister, my Chelsea landlady, Dr. Ritchie, the impassive head waiter from the Milan—it seemed that everybody who had played a part, however small, in Mr. Stuart Northcote's highly successful comedy had gathered here to watch the last act unroll itself. Everybody, that is to say, with three exceptions. Not only were Billy and Mercia conspicuous by their absence, but with a curious and very unpleasant shock I suddenly realised that Lord Sangatte was also missing. Search as I would round the crowded court, I could find no trace of that heavy face and those hard blue eyes which I remembered and disliked with such peculiar distinctness.

It was this discovery which more than anything else filled me with a savage impatience to get the present proceedings over and done with. There was some mischief afoot,—something in which Mercia and Billy and Sangatte were all involved,—and here was I knowing nothing about it and powerless to help. I felt a wild impulse to jump up out of my seat and make a dash for the door; but fortunately my common sense was sufficiently strong to restrain me. I dug my hands deeper in my pockets, and with apparent calm listened first to the doctor and then to Father Merrill as, under the magistrate's skilful questions, they in turn confirmed Milford's story.

How long the inquiry went on I can't say. It seemed centuries to me, but I suppose as a matter of fact it was only about three-quarters of an hour from the time Milford had finished giving his evidence that the magistrate leaned over and addressed the prosecuting counsel.

"Do you still persist in pressing for a remand?" he inquired.

There was a moment of tense excitement in court, while a certain amount of whispering went on between those responsible. At last the barrister in charge of the case rose to his feet.

"On behalf of the police, your worship," he replied, "I am prepared to withdraw the charge of murder against Mr. Burton."

"Bravo!" exclaimed a silvery voice at the back which I seemed to recognise, and instantly a general cheer went up all round the court. I presume it must have been the nervous strain of the moment which was responsible for this enthusiasm, for I can hardly believe that I cut a very heroic or sympathetic figure. Anyhow, the magistrate sat on the outburst with commendable severity.