I sat in the dock heedless of everything; I had grown callous. I had one thought only: Why had not Vera made her promised explanation?
A few minor witnesses were called, and the case for the prosecution closed.
At last Mr Roland rose to make his speech in my defence. The circumstantial evidence already produced was, I knew, sufficient to cause the jury to find me guilty, and I listened in rapt attention to the clear, concise arguments of the famous advocate.
But how unsatisfactory was his speech—how weak was his defence! With a sinking heart I saw more than one of the jury smile incredulously when my innocence was asserted.
“I admit, gentlemen,” said Mr Roland, in the course of his address, “that this case is enshrouded in mystery; but while asserting that the prisoner is innocent, I tell you plainly there is a secret. The key to this enigma is known to one person alone, and that person, for reasons with which I am myself unacquainted, is not in a position to divulge it. That this secret bears directly upon the crime is obvious, nevertheless it is a most unfortunate circumstance that the mystery cannot be wholly elucidated by a satisfactory explanation. However, I have several witnesses whom I purpose calling before you; and having heard them, I shall ask you to discharge the prisoner, feeling assured you will be convinced that he is entirely innocent.”
“But, Mr Roland, this is a most extraordinary case,” interposed the judge. “You speak of a person who knows the secret and refuses to give evidence. If this is so, this person is party to the crime. To whom do you refer?”
Counsel held a brief consultation with his junior, then rose again.
The Court was all expectancy.
“I refer, m’lord, to no less a person than the prisoner’s wife!”
The reply caused a sensation. Vera knew the secret! I was not wrong.