IN WHICH THE CASE OF "BENEDICT _VS._ BELCHER" FINDS ITSELF IN COURT, AN
INTERESTING QUESTION OF IDENTITY IS SETTLED, AND A MYSTERIOUS
DISAPPEARANCE TAKES PLACE.
"OYEZ! _Oyez_! _All-persons-having-business-to-do-with-the
-Circuit-Court-of-the-United-States-for-the-Southern-District-of
-New-York,-draw-near,-give-your-attention,-and-you-shall-be-heard."_
"That's the crier," whispered Mr. Benedict to Jim.
"What's the matter of 'im?" inquired the latter.
"That's the way they open the court."
"Well, if he opens it with cryin', he'll have a tough time a shuttin' on
it," responded Jim, in a whisper so loud that he attracted attention.
There within the bar sat Mr. Balfour, calmly examining his papers. He
looked up among the assembled jurors, witnesses and idlers, and beckoned
Benedict to his side. There sat Robert Belcher with his counsel. The
great rascal was flashily dressed, with a stupendous show of
shirt-front, over which fell, down by the side of the diamond studs, a
heavy gold chain. Brutality, vulgarity, self-assurance and an
over-bearing will, all expressed themselves in his broad face, bold eyes
and heavy chin. Mr. Cavendish, with his uneasy scalp, white hands, his
scornful lips and his thin, twitching nostrils, looked the very
impersonation of impatience and contempt. If the whole court-room had
been thronged with vermin instead of human beings, among which he was
obliged to sit, he could not have appeared more disgusted. Quite retired
among the audience, and deeply veiled, sat Mrs. Dillingham. Mr. Belcher
detected her, and, though he could not see her face, felt that he could
not be mistaken as to her identity. Why was she there? Why, but to
notice the progress and issue of the trial, in her anxiety for him? He
was not glad to see her there.
He beckoned for Phipps, who sat uneasily, with a scared look upon his
face, among the crowd.
"Is that Mrs. Dillingham?" he asked in a whisper.
Phipps assured him that it was. Then Mr. Belcher wrote upon his card the
words: "Do not, for my sake, remain in this room."
"Give this to her," he said to his servant.
The card was delivered, but the lady, quite to his surprise, did not
stir. He thought of his little book, but it seemed impossible that his
idol, who had so long been hidden from his sight and his knowledge,
could betray him.
A jury was empanneled, the case of Benedict _vs._ Belcher was called,
and the counsel of both parties declared themselves ready for the trial.
The suit was for damages, in the sum of half a million dollars, for the
infringement of patents on machines, implements and processes, of which
it was declared that the plaintiff was the first and only inventor. The
answer to the complaint alleged the disappearance and death of Benedict,
and declared the plaintiff to be an impostor, averred the assignment of
all the patents in question to the defendant, and denied the profits.
The judge, set somewhat deep in his shirt-collar, as if his head and his
heart were near enough together to hold easy communication, watched the
formal proceedings listlessly, out of a pair of pleasant eyes, and when
they were completed, nodded to Mr. Balfour, in indication that he was
ready to proceed.
Mr. Balfour, gathering his papers before him, rose to make the opening
for the prosecution.
"May it please the Court," he said, "and gentlemen of the jury, I have
to present to you a case, either issue of which it is not pleasant for
me to contemplate. Either my client or the defendant will go out of this
court, at the conclusion of this case, a blackened man; and, as I have a
warm friendship for one of them, and bear no malice to the other, I am
free to confess that, while I seek for justice, I shrink from the
results of its vindication."
Mr. Cavendish jumped up and interjected spitefully: "I beg the gentleman
to spare us his hypothetical sentiment. It is superfluous, so far as my
client is concerned, and offensive."
Mr. Balfour waited calmly for the little explosion and the clearing away
of the smoke, and then resumed. "I take no pleasure in making myself
offensive to the defendant and his counsel," said he, "but, if I am
interrupted, I shall be compelled to call things by their right names,
and to do some thing more than hint at the real status of this case. I
see other trials, in other courts, at the conclusion of this
action,--other trials with graver issues. I could not look forward to
them with any pleasure, without acknowledging myself to be a knave. I
could not refrain from alluding to them, without convicting myself of
carelessness and frivolity. Something more than money is involved in the
issue of this action. Either the plaintiff or the defendant will go out
of this court wrecked in character, blasted in reputation, utterly
ruined. The terms of the bill and the answer determine this result."
Mr. Cavendish sat through this exordium as if he sat on nettles, but
wisely held his tongue, while the brazen-faced proprietor leaned
carelessly over, and whispered to his counsel. Phipps, on his distant
seat, grew white around the lips, and felt that he was on the verge of
the most serious danger of his life.
"The plaintiff, in this case," Mr. Balfour went on, "brings an action
for damages for the infringement of various patent rights. I shall prove
to you that these patents were issued to him, as the first and only
inventor; that he has never assigned them to any one; that they have
been used by the defendant for from seven to ten years, to his great
profit; that he is using them still without a license, and without
rendering a just consideration for them. I shall prove to you that the
defendant gained his first possession of these inventions by a series of
misrepresentations, false promises, oppressions and wrongs, and has used
them without license in consequence of the weakness, illness, poverty
and defencelessness of their rightful owner. I shall prove to you that
their owner was driven to insanity by these perplexities and the
persecutions of the defendant, and that even after he became insane, the
defendant tried to secure the execution of the assignment which he had
sought in vain during the sanity of the patentee.
"I will not characterize by the name belonging to it the instrument
which is to be presented in answer to the bill filed in this case,
further than to say that it has no legal status whatsoever. It is the
consummate fruit of a tree that was planted in fraud; and if I do not
make it so to appear, before the case is finished, I will beg pardon of
the court, of you, gentlemen of the jury, and especially of the
defendant and his honorable counsel. First, therefore, I offer in
evidence certified copies of the patents in question."
Mr. Balfour read these documents, and they were examined both by Mr.
Cavendish and the court.
The name of Paul Benedict was then called, as the first witness.
Mr. Benedict mounted the witness stand. He was pale and quiet, with a
pink tinge on either cheek. He had the bearing and dress of a gentleman,
and contrasted strangely with the coarse, bold man to whom he had been
indebted for so many wrongs and indignities. He was at last in the place
to which he had looked forward with so much dread, but there came to him
a calmness and a self-possession which he had not anticipated. He was
surrounded by powerful friends. He was menaced, too, by powerful
enemies, and all his manhood was roused.
"What is your name?" asked Mr. Balfour.
"Paul Benedict."
"Where were you born?"
"In the city of New York."
"Are you the inventor of the machines, implements and processes named in
the documents from the Patent Office which have just been read in your
hearing?"
"I am, sir."
"And you are the only owner of all these patent rights?"
"I am, sir."
"What is your profession?"
"I was trained for a mechanical engineer."
"What has been your principal employment?"
"Invention."
"When you left New York, whither did you go?"
"To Sevenoaks."
"How many years ago was that?"
"Eleven or twelve, I suppose."
"Now I want you to tell to the Court, in a plain, brief way, the history
of your life in Sevenoaks, giving with sufficient detail an account of
all your dealings with the defendant in this case, so that we may
perfectly understand how your inventions came into Mr. Belcher's hands,
and why you have never derived any benefit from them."
It was a curious illustration of the inventor's nature that, at this
moment, with his enemy and tormentor before him, he shrank from giving
pain. Mr. Cavendish noticed his hesitation, and was on his feet in an
instant. "May it please the court," said he, "there is a question
concerning identity that comes up at this point, and I beg the privilege
of asking it here."
The judge looked at Mr. Balfour, and the latter said: "Certainly."
"I would like to ask the witness," said Mr. Cavendish, "whether he is
the Paul Benedict who left the city about the time at which he testifies
that he went away, in consequence of his connection with a band of
counterfeiters. Did you, sir, invent their machinery, or did you not?"
"I did not," answered the witness--his face all aflame. The idea that
he could be suspected, or covertly charged, with crime, in the presence
of friends and strangers, was so terrible that the man tottered on his
feet.
Mr. Cavendish gave a significant glance at his client, whose face
bloomed with a brutal smile, and then sat down.
"Is that all?" inquired Mr. Balfour.
"All, for the present," responded Mr. Cavendish, sneeringly, and with
mock courtesy.
"May it please the Court," said Mr. Balfour, "I hope I may be permitted
to say that the tactics of the defendant are worthy of his cause." Then
turning to Mr. Benedict, he said, "I trust the witness will not be
disturbed by the insult that has been gratuitously offered him, and will
tell the history which I have asked him to tell."
Mr. Cavendish had made a mistake. At this insult, and the gratification
which it afforded Mr. Belcher, the inventor's pity died out of him, and
he hardened to his work.
"When I went to Sevenoaks," said he, "I was very poor, as I have always
been since. I visited Mr. Belcher's mill, and saw how great improvements
could be made in his machines and processes; and then I visited him, and
told him what I could do for him. He furnished me with money for my
work, and for securing the patents on my inventions, with the verbal
promise that I should share in such profits as might accrue from their
use. He was the only man who had money; he was the only man who could
use the inventions; and he kept me at work, until he had secured
everything that he wished for. In the meantime, I suffered for the lack
of the necessaries of life, and was fed from day to day, and month to
month, and year to year, on promises. He never rendered me any returns,
declared that the patents were nearly useless to him, and demanded, as a
consideration for the money he had advanced to me, the assignment of all
my patents to him. My only child was born in the midst of my early
trouble, and such were the privations to which my wife was subjected
that she never saw a day of health after the event. She died at last,
and in the midst of my deepest troubles, Mr. Belcher pursued me with his
demands for the assignment of my patents. He still held me to him by the
bestowal of small sums, which necessity compelled me to accept. He
always had a remarkable power over me, and I felt that he would lead me
to destruction. I saw the hopes of years melting away, and knew that in
time he would beat down my will, and, on his own terms, possess himself
of all the results of my years of study and labor. I saw nothing but
starvation before me and my child, and went down into a horror of great
darkness."
A cold shiver ran over the witness, and his face grew pale and pinched,
at this passage of his story. The court-house was as still as midnight.
Even the General lost his smile, and leaned forward, as if the narration
concerned some monster other than himself.
"What then?" inquired Mr. Balfour.
"I hardly know. Everything that I remember after that was confused and
terrible. For years I was insane. I went to the hospital, and was there
supported by Mr. Belcher. He even followed me there, and endeavored to
get my signature to an assignment, but was positively forbidden by the
superintendent of the asylum. Then, after being pronounced incurable, I
was sent back to the Sevenoaks alms-house, where, for a considerable
time, my boy was also kept; and from that horrible place, by the aid of
a friend, I escaped. I remember it all as a long dream of torture. My
cure came in the woods, at Number Nine, where I have ever since lived,
and where twice I have been sought and found by paid emissaries of Mr.
Belcher, who did not love him well enough to betray me. And, thanks to
the ministry of the best friends that God ever raised up to a man, I am
here to-day to claim my rights."
"These rights," said Mr. Balfour, "these rights which you hold in your
patented inventions, for all these years used by the defendant, you say
you have never assigned."
"Never."
"If an assignment executed in due form should be presented to you, what
should you say?"
"I object to the question," said Mr. Cavendish, leaping to his feet.
"The document has not yet been presented to him."
"The gentleman is right," said Mr. Balfour; "the witness has never seen
it. I withdraw the question; and now tell me what you know about Mr.
Belcher's profits on the use of these inventions."
"I cannot tell much," replied Mr. Benedict. "I know the inventions were
largely profitable to him; otherwise he would not have been so anxious
to own them. I have never had access to his books, but I know he became
rapidly rich on his manufactures, and that, by the cheapness with which
he produced them, he was able to hold the market, and to force his
competitors into bankruptcy."
"May it please the Court," said Mr. Balfour, "I am about done with this
witness, and I wish to say, just here, that if the defendant stands by
his pleadings, and denies his profits, I shall demand the production of
his books in Court. We can get definite information from them, at
least." Then bowing to Mr. Benedict, he told him that he had no further
questions to ask.
The witness was about to step down, when the Judge turned to Mr.
Cavendish, with the question: "Does the counsel for the defendant wish
to cross-examine the witness?"
"May it please the Court," said Mr. Cavendish rising, "the counsel for
the defense regards the examination so far simply as a farce. We do not
admit that the witness is Paul Benedict, at all--or, rather, the Paul
Benedict named in the patents, certified copies of which are in
evidence. The Paul Benedict therein named, has long been regarded as
dead. This man has come and gone for months in Sevenoaks, among the
neighbors of the real Paul Benedict, unrecognized. He says he has lived
for years within forty miles of Sevenoaks, and at this late day puts
forward his claims. There is nobody in Court, sir. We believe the
plaintiff to be a fraud, and this prosecution a put-up job. In saying
this, I would by no means impugn the honor of the plaintiff's counsel.
Wiser men than he have been deceived and duped, and he may be assured
that he is the victim of the villainies or the hallucinations of an
impostor. There are men in this room, ready to testify in this case, who
knew Paul Benedict during all his residence in Sevenoaks; and the
witness stands before them at this moment unrecognized and unknown. I
cannot cross-examine the witness, without recognizing his identity with
the Paul Benedict named in the patents. There is nothing but a pretender
in Court, may it please your honor, and I decline to have anything to do
with him."
Mr. Cavendish sat down, with the air of a man who believed he had
blasted the case in the bud, and that there was nothing left to do but
to adjourn.
"It seems to the Court, gentlemen," said the judge in a quiet tone,
"that this question of identity should be settled as an essential
preliminary to further proceedings."
"May it please your honor," said Mr. Balfour, rising, "I did not suppose
it possible, after the plaintiff had actually appeared in court, and
shown himself to the defendant, that this question of identity would be
mooted or mentioned. The defendant must know that I have witnesses
here--that I would not appear here without competent witnesses--who will
place his identity beyond question. It seems, however, that this case is
to be fought inch by inch, on every possible ground. As the first
witness upon this point, I shall call for James Fenton."
"Jest call me Jim," said the individual named, from his distant seat.
"James Fenton" was called to the stand, and Mr. Benedict stepped down.
Jim advanced through the crowd, his hair standing very straight in the
air, and his face illumined by a smile that won every heart in the
house, except those of the defendant and his counsel. A war-horse going
into battle, or a hungry man going to his dinner, could not have
manifested more rampant alacrity.
"Hold up your right hand," said the clerk.
"Sartin," said Jim. "Both on 'em if ye say so."
"You solemnly swear m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-so help you God!"
"I raally wish, if ye ain't too tired, that ye'd say that over agin,"
said Jim. "If I'm a goin' to make a Happy David, I want to know what it
is."
The clerk hesitated, and the judge directed him to repeat the form of
the oath distinctly. When this was done, Jim said: "Thank ye; there's
nothin' like startin' squar."
"James Fenton," said Mr. Balfour, beginning a question.
"Jest call me Jim: I ain't no prouder here nor I be at Number Nine,"
said the witness.
"Very well, Jim," said Mr. Balfour smiling, "tell us who you are."
"I'm Jim Fenton, as keeps a hotel at Number Nine. My father was an
Englishman, my mother was a Scotchman, I was born in Ireland, an' raised
in Canady, an' I've lived in Number Nine for more nor twelve year,
huntin', trappin' an' keepin' a hotel. I hain't never ben eddicated, but
I can tell the truth when it's necessary, an' I love my friends an' hate
my enemies."
"May it please the Court," said Mr. Cavendish with a sneer, "I beg to
suggest to the plaintiff's counsel that the witness should be required
to give his religious views."
Mr. Belcher laughed, and Mr. Cavendish sniffed his lips, as if they had
said a good thing.
"Certainly," responded Mr. Balfour. "What are your religious views,
Jim?"
"Well," said Jim, "I hain't got many, but I sh'd be s'prised if there
wasn't a brimstone mine on t'other side, with a couple o' picks in it
for old Belcher an' the man as helps 'im."
The laugh was on Mr. Cavendish. The Court smiled, the audience roared,
and order was demanded.
"That will do," said Mr. Cavendish. "The religious views of the witness
are definite and satisfactory."
"Jim, do you know Paul Benedict?" inquired Mr. Balfour.
"Well, I do," said Jim. "I've knowed 'im ever sence he come to
Sevenoaks."
"How did you make his acquaintance?"
"He used to come into the woods, fishin' an' huntin'. Him an' me was
like brothers. He was the curisest creetur I ever seen, an' I hope he
takes no 'fense in hearin' me say so. Ye've seen his tackle, Mr.
Balfour, an' that split bamboo o' his, but the jedge hasn't seen it. I
wish I'd brung it along. Fond of fishin', sir?" And Jim turned blandly
and patronizingly to the Court.
The Judge could not repress a little ripple of amusement, which, from a
benevolent mouth, ran out over his face. Biting his lips, he said: "The
witness had better be confined to the matter in hand."
"An' Jedge--no 'fense--but I like yer looks, an' if ye'll come to Number
Nine--it's a little late now--I'll"--
Mr. Cavendish jumped up and said fiercely: "I object to this trifling."
"Jim," said Mr. Balfour, "the defendant's counsel objects to your
trifling. He has a right to do so, particularly as he is responsible for
starting it. Now tell me whether the Paul Benedict you knew was the only
man of the name who has lived in Sevenoaks since you have lived in
Number Nine?"
"He was the only one I ever hearn on. He was the one as invented
Belcher's machines, any way. He's talked about 'em with me a thousand
times."
"Is he in the room?"
"Mostly," said Jim, with his bland smile.
"Give me a direct answer, now."
"Yis, he's in this room, and he's a settin' there by you, an' he's been
a stannin' where I stan' now."
"How do you know that this is the same man who used to visit you in the
woods, and who invented Mr. Belcher's machines?"
"Well, it's a long story. I don't mind tellin' on it, if it wouldn't be
too triflin'," with a comical wink at Mr. Cavendish.
"Go on and tell it," said Mr. Balfour.
"I knowed Benedict up to the time when he lost his mind, an' was packed
off to the 'Sylum, an' I never seen 'im agin till I seen 'im in the
Sevenoaks' poor-house. I come acrost his little boy one night on the
hill, when I was a trampin' home. He hadn't nothin' on but rags, an' he
was as blue an' hungry as a spring bar. The little feller teched me ye
know--teched my feelins--an' I jest sot down to comfort 'im. He telled
me his ma was dead, and that his pa was at old Buffum's, as crazy as a
loon. Well, I stayed to old Buffum's that night, an' went into the
poor-house in the mornin', with the doctor. I seen Benedict thar, an'
knowed him. He was a lyin' on the straw, an' he hadn't cloes enough on
'im to put in tea. An', says I, 'Mr. Benedict, give us your
benediction;' an', says he, 'Jim!' That floored me, an' I jest cried and
swar'd to myself. Well, I made a little 'rangement with him an' his boy,
to take 'im to Abram's bosom. Ye see he thought he was in hell, an' it
was a reasomble thing in 'im too; an' I telled 'im that I'd got a
settlement in Abram's bosom, an' I axed 'im over to spend the day. I
took 'im out of the poor-house an' carried 'im to Number Nine, an' I
cured 'im. He's lived there ever sence, helped me build my hotel, an' I
come down with 'im, to 'tend this Court, an' we brung his little boy
along too, an' the little feller is here, an' knows him better nor I
do."
"And you declare, under oath, that the Paul Benedict whom you knew in
Sevenoaks, and at Number Nine--before his insanity--the Paul Benedict
who was in the poor-house at Sevenoaks and notoriously escaped from that
institution--escaped by your help, has lived with you ever since, and
has appeared here in Court this morning," said Mr. Balfour.
"He's the same feller, an' no mistake, if so be he hain't slipped his
skin," said Jim, "an' no triflin'. I make my Happy David on't."
"Did Mr. Belcher ever send into the woods to find him?'"
"Yis," said Jim, laughing, "but I choked 'em off."
"How did you choke them off?"
"I telled 'em both I'd lick 'em if they ever blowed. They didn't want to
blow any, to speak on, but Mike Conlin come in with a hundred dollars of
Belcher's money in his jacket, an' helped me nuss my man for a week; an'
I got a Happy David out o' Sam Yates, an' ther's the dockyment;" and Jim
drew from his pocket the instrument with which the reader is already
familiar.
Mr. Balfour had seen the paper, and told Jim that it was not necessary
in the case. Mr. Belcher looked very red in the face, and leaned over
and whispered to his lawyer.
"That is all," said Mr. Balfour.
Mr. Cavendish rose. "You helped Mr. Benedict to escape, did you, Jim?"
"I said so," replied Jim.
"Did you steal the key when you were there first?"
"No; I borrered it, an' brung it back an left it in the door."
"Did you undo the fastenings of the outside door?"
"Yis, an' I did 'em up agin."
"Did you break down the grated door?"
"I remember about somethin' squeakin' an' givin' 'way," replied Jim,
with a smile. "It was purty dark, an' I couldn't see 'xactly what was a
goin' on."
"Oh you couldn't! We have your confession, then, that you are a thief
and a burglar, and that you couldn't see the man you took out."
"Well, now, Squar, that won't help ye any. Benedict is the man as got
away, an' I saved the town the board of two paupers an' the cost of two
pine coffins, an' sent old Buffum where he belonged, an' nobody cried
but his pertickler friend as sets next to ye."
"I beg the Court's protection for my client, against the insults of
this witness," said Mr. Cavendish.
"When a man calls Jim Fenton a thief an' a buggler, he must take what
comes on't," said Jim. "Ye may thank yer everlastin' stars that ye
didn't say that to me in the street, for I should 'a licked ye. I should
'a fastened that slippery old scalp o' yourn tighter nor a drum-head."
"Witness," said the Judge, peremptorily, "you forget where you are, sir.
You must stop these remarks."
"Jedge look 'ere! When a man is insulted by a lawyer in court, what can
he do? I'm a reasomble man, but I can't take anybody's sarse. It does
seem to me as if a lawyer as snubs a witness an calls 'im names, wants
dressin' down too. Give Jim Fenton a fair shake, an' he's all right."
Jim's genial nature and his irrepressible tongue were too much for the
court and the lawyers together. Mr. Cavendish writhed in his seat. He
could do nothing with Jim. He could neither scare nor control him, and
saw that the witness was only anxious for another encounter. It was too
evident that the sympathy of the jury and the increasing throng of
spectators was with the witness, and that they took delight in the
discomfiture of the defendant's counsel.
"May it please the Court," said Mr. Cavendish, "after the disgraceful
confessions of the witness, and the revelation of his criminal
character, it will not comport with my own self-respect to question him
further."
"Paddlin' off, eh?" said Jim, with a comical smile.
"Witness," said the Judge, "be silent and step down."
"No 'fense, Jedge, I hope?"
"Step down, sir."
Jim saw that matters were growing serious. He liked the Judge, and had
intended, in some private way, to explain the condition of his hair as
attributable to his fright on being called into Court as a witness, but
he was obliged to relinquish his plan, and go back to his seat. The
expression of his face must have been most agreeable to the spectators,
for there was a universal giggle among them which called out the
reproof of the Court.
"Helen Dillingham" was next called for. At the pronunciation of her
name, and her quiet progress through the court-room to the stand, there
was a hush in which nothing was heard but the rustle of her own drapery.
Mr. Belcher gasped, and grew pale. Here was the woman whom he madly
loved. Here was the woman whom he had associated with his scheme of
European life, and around whom, more and more, as his difficulties
increased and the possibilities of disaster presented themselves, he had
grouped his hopes and gathered his plans. Had he been the dupe of her
cunning? Was he to be the object of her revenge? Was he to be betrayed?
Her intimacy with Harry Benedict began to take on new significance. Her
systematic repulses of his blind passion had an explanation other than
that which he had given them. Mr. Belcher thought rapidly while the
formalities which preceded her testimony were in progress.
Every man in the court-room leaned eagerly forward to catch her first
word. Her fine figure, graceful carriage and rich dress had made their
usual impression.
"Mrs. Dillingham," said the Judge, with a courteous bow and gesture,
"will you have the kindness to remove your veil?"
The veil was quietly raised over her hat, and she stood revealed. She
was not pale; she was fresh from the woods, and in the glory of renewed
health. A murmur of admiration went around the room like the stirring of
leaves before a vagrant breeze.
"Mrs. Dillingham," said Mr. Balfour, "where do you reside?"
"In this city, sir."
"Have you always lived here?"
"Always."
"Do you know Paul Benedict?"
"I do, sir."
"How long have you known him?"
"From the time I was born until he left New York, after his marriage."
"What is his relation to you?"
"He is my brother, sir."
Up to this answer, she had spoken quietly, and in a voice that could
only be heard through the room by the closest attention; but the last
answer was given in a full, emphatic tone.
Mr. Belcher entirely lost his self-possession. His face grew white, his
eyes were wild, and raising his clenched fist he brought it down with a
powerful blow upon the table before him, and exclaimed: "My God!"
The court-room became in an instant as silent as death. The Judge
uttered no reprimand, but looked inquiringly, and with unfeigned
astonishment, at the defendant.
Mr. Cavendish rose and begged the Court to overlook his client's
excitement, as he had evidently been taken off his guard.
"Paul Benedict is your brother, you say?" resumed Mr. Balfour.
"He is, sir."
"What was his employment before he left New York?"
"He was an inventor from his childhood, and received a careful education
in accordance with his mechanical genius."
"Why did he leave New York?"
"I am ashamed to say that he left in consequence of my own unkindness."
"What was the occasion of your unkindness?"
"His marriage with one whom I did not regard as his own social equal or
mine."
"What was her name?"
"Jane Kendrick."
"How did you learn that he was alive?"
"Through his son, whom I invited into my house, after he was brought to
this city by yourself."
"Have you recently visited the cemetery at Sevenoaks?"
"I have, sir."
"Did you see the grave of your sister-in-law?"
"I did."
"Was there a headstone upon the grave?"
"There was a humble one."
"What inscription did it bear?"
"Jane Kendrick, wife of Paul Benedict."
"When and where did you see your brother first, after your separation?"
"Early last summer at a place called Number Nine."
"Did you recognise him?"
"I did, at once."
"Has anything occurred, in the intercourse of the summer, to make you
suspect that the man whom you recognised as your brother was an
impostor?"
"Nothing. We have conversed with perfect familiarity on a thousand
events and circumstances of our early life. I know him to be my brother
as well as I know my own name, and my own identity."
"That is all," said Mr. Balfour.
"Mrs. Dillingham," said Mr. Cavendish after holding a long whispered
conversation with his client, "you were glad to find your brother at
last, were you not?"
"Very glad, sir."
"Why?"
"Because I was sorry for the misery which I had inflicted upon him, and
to which I had exposed him."
"You were the victim of remorse, as I understand you?"
"Yes, sir; I suppose so."
"Were you conscious that your condition of mind unfitted you to
discriminate? Were you not so anxious to find your brother, in order to
quiet your conscience, that you were easily imposed upon."
"No, sir, to both questions."
"Well, madam, such things have happened. Have you been in the habit of
receiving Mr. Belcher at your house?"
"I have."
"You have been in the habit of receiving gentlemen rather
indiscriminately at your house, haven't you?"
"I object to the question," said Mr. Balfour quickly. "It carries a
covert insult to the witness."
Mrs. Dillingham bowed to Mr. Balfour in acknowledgment of his courtesy,
but answered the question. "I have received you, sir, and Mr. Belcher. I
may have been indiscriminate in my courtesies. A lady living alone
cannot always tell."
A titter ran around the court-room, in which Mr. Belcher joined. His
admiration was too much at the moment for his self-interest.
"Did you know before you went to Number Nine, that your brother was
there?" inquired Mr. Cavendish.
"I did, and the last time but one at which Mr. Belcher called upon me I
informed him of the fact."
"That your brother was there?"
"No, that Paul Benedict was there."
"How did you know he was there?"
"His little boy wrote me from there, and told me so."
Mr. Cavendish had found more than he sought. He wanted to harass the
witness, but he had been withheld by his client. Baffled on one hand and
restrained on the other--for Mr. Belcher could not give her up, and
learn to hate her in a moment--he told the witness he had no more
questions to ask.
Mrs. Dillingham drew down her veil again, and walked to her seat.
Harry Benedict was next called, and after giving satisfactory answers to
questions concerning his understanding of the nature of an oath, was
permitted to testify.
"Harry," said Mr. Balfour, "were you ever in Mr. Belcher's house?"
"Yes, sir."
"Tell us how it happened that you were there."
"Mr. Belcher stopped me in the street, and led me up the steps, and then
up stairs into his room."
"What question did he ask you?"
"He wanted to know whether my father was alive."
"Did he offer you money if you would tell?"
"Yes, sir; he offered me a great gold piece of money, and told me it was
an eagle."
"Did you take it?"
"No, sir."
"Did he threaten you?"
"He tried to scare me, sir."
"Did he tell you that he should like to give your father some money?"
"Yes, sir."
"And did you tell him that your father was alive?"
"No, sir, I ran away;" and Harry could not restrain a laugh at the
remembrance of the scene.
"Harry, is your father in this room?"
Harry looked at his father with a smile, and answered, "Yes, sir."
"Now, Harry, I want you to pick him out from all these people. Be sure
not to make any mistake. Mr. Belcher has been so anxious to find him,
that I presume he will be very much obliged to you for the information.
Go and put your hand on him."
Harry started at a run, and, dodging around the end of the bar, threw
himself into his father's arms. The performance seemed so comical to the
lad, that he burst into a peal of boyish laughter, and the scene had
such a pretty touch of nature in it, that the spectators cheered, and
were only checked by the stern reprimand of the judge, who threatened
the clearing of the room if such a demonstration should again be
indulged in.
"Does the counsel for the defence wish to cross-examine the witness?"
inquired the judge.
"I believe not," said Mr. Cavendish, with a nod; and then Harry went to
his seat, at the side of Jim Fenton, who hugged him so that he almost
screamed. "Ye're a brick, little feller," Jim whispered. "That was a
Happy David, an' a Goliar into the bargin. You've knocked the Ph'listine
this time higher nor a kite."
"May it please the Court," said Mr. Cavendish, "I have witnesses here
who knew Paul Benedict during all his residence in Sevenoaks, and who
are ready to testify that they do not know the person who presents
himself here to-day, as the plaintiff in this case. I comprehend the
disadvantage at which I stand, with only negative testimony at my
command. I know how little value it has, when opposed to such as has
been presented here; and while I am convinced that my client is wronged,
I shall be compelled, in the end, to accept the identity of the
plaintiff as established. If I believed the real Paul Benedict, named in
the patents in question, in this case, to be alive, I should be
compelled to fight this question to the end, by every means in my power,
but the main question at issue, as to whom the title to these patents
rests in, can be decided between my client and a man of straw, as well
as between him and the real inventor. That is the first practical issue,
and to save the time of the Court, I propose to proceed to its trial;
and first I wish to cross-examine the plaintiff."
Mr. Benedict resumed the stand.
"Witness, you pretend to be the owner of the patents in question, in
this case, and the inventor of the machines, implements and processes
which they cover, do you?" said Mr. Cavendish.
"I object to the form of the question," said Mr. Balfour. "It is an
insult to the witness, and a reflection upon the gentleman's own
sincerity, in accepting the identity of the plaintiff."
"Very well," said Mr. Cavendish, "since the plaintiff's counsel is so
difficult to please! You are the owner of these patents, are you?"
"I am, sir."
"You have been insane, have you sir?"
"I suppose I have been, sir. I was very ill for a long time, and have no
doubt that I suffered from mental alienation."
"What is your memory of things that occurred immediately preceding your
insanity?"
Mr. Benedict and his counsel saw the bearings of this question, at once,
but the witness would no more have lied than he would have stolen, or
committed murder. So he answered: "It is very much confused, sir."
"Oh, it is! I thought so! Then you cannot swear to the events
immediately preceding your attack?"
"I am afraid I cannot, sir, at least, not in their order or detail."
"No! I thought so!" said Mr. Cavendish, in his contemptuous manner, and
rasping voice. "I commend your prudence. Now, witness, if a number of
your neighbors should assure you that, on the day before your attack,
you did a certain thing, which you do not remember to have done, how
should you regard their testimony?"
"If they were credible people, and not unfriendly to me, I should be
compelled to believe them."
"Why, sir! you are an admirable witness! I did not anticipate such
candor. We are getting at the matter bravely. We have your confession,
then, that you do not remember distinctly the events that occurred the
day before your attack, and your assertion that you are ready to believe
and accept the testimony of credible witnesses in regard to those
events."
"Yes, sir."
"Did you ever know Nicholas Johnson and James Ramsey?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where did you see them last?"
"In Mr. Belcher's library."
"On what occasion, or, rather, at what time?"
"I have sad reason to remember both the occasion and the date, sir. Mr.
Belcher had determined to get my signature to an assignment, and had
brought me to his house on another pretext entirely. I suppose he had
summoned these men as witnesses."
"Where are these men now?"
"Unhappily, they are both dead."
"Yes, unhappily indeed--unhappily for my client. Was there anybody else
in the room?"
"I believe that Phipps, Mr. Belcher's man, was coming and going."
"Why, your memory is excellent, is it not? And you remember the date of
this event too! Suppose you tell us what it was."
"It was the 4th of May, 1860."
"How confused you must have been!" said Mr. Cavendish.
"These are things that were burnt into my memory," responded the
witness. "There were other occurrences that day, of which I have been
informed, but of which I have no memory."
"Ah, there are! Well, I shall have occasion to refresh your mind upon
still another, before I get through with you. Now, if I should show you
an assignment, signed by yourself on the very day you have designated,
and also signed by Johnson, Ramsey and Phipps as witnesses, what should
you say to it?"
"I object to the question. The counsel should show the document to the
witness, and then ask his opinion of it," said Mr. Balfour.
The Court coincided with Mr. Balfour's view, and ruled accordingly.
"Very well," said Mr. Cavendish, "we shall get at that in good time.
Now, witness, will you be kind enough to tell me how you remember that
all this occurred on the 4th of May, 1860?"
"It happened to be the first anniversary of my wife's death. I went
from her grave to Mr. Belcher's house. The day was associated with the
saddest and most precious memories of my life."
"What an excellent memory!" said Mr. Cavendish; rubbing his white hands
together. "Are you familiar with the signatures of Nicholas Johnson and
James Ramsey?"
"I have seen them many times."
"Would you recognize them, if I were to show them to you?"
"I don't know sir."
"Oh! your memory begins to fail now, does it? How is it that you cannot
remember things with which you were familiar during a series of years,
when you were perfectly sane, and yet can remember things so well that
happened when your mind was confused?"
Mr. Benedict's mind was getting confused again, and he began to stammer.
Mr. Cavendish wondered that, in some way, Mr. Balfour did not come to
the relief of his witness, but he sat perfectly quiet, and apparently
unconcerned. Mr. Cavendish rummaged among his papers, and withdrew two
letters. These he handed to the witness. "Now," said he, "will the
witness examine these letters, and tell us whether he recognizes the
signatures as genuine?"
Mr. Benedict took the two letters, of which he had already heard through
Sam Yates, and very carefully read them. His quick, mechanical eye
measured the length and every peculiarity of the signatures. He spent so
much time upon them that even the court grew impatient.
"Take all the time you need, witness," said Mr. Balfour.
"All day, of course, if necessary," responded Mr. Cavendish raspingly.
"I think these are genuine autograph letters, both of them," said Mr.
Benedict.
"Thank you: now please hand them back to me."
"I have special reasons for requesting the Court to impound these
letters," said Mr. Balfour. "They will be needed again in the case."
"The witness will hand the letters to the clerk," said the judge.
Mr. Cavendish was annoyed, but acquiesced gracefully. Then he took up
the assignment, and said: "Witness, I hold in my hand a document signed,
sealed and witnessed on the 4th day of May, 1860, by which Paul Benedict
conveys to Robert Belcher his title to the patents, certified copies of
which have been placed in evidence. I want you to examine carefully your
own signature, and those of Johnson and Ramsey. Happily, one of the
witnesses is still living, and is ready, not only to swear to his own
signature, but to yours and to those of the other witnesses."
Mr. Cavendish advanced, and handed Benedict the instrument. The inventor
opened it, looked it hurriedly through, and then paused at the
signatures. After examining them long, with naked eyes, he drew a glass
from his pocket, and scrutinized them with a curious, absorbed look,
forgetful, apparently, where he was.
"Is the witness going to sleep?" inquired Mr. Cavendish; but he did not
stir. Mr. Belcher drew a large handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped
his red, perspiring face. It was an awful moment to him. Phipps, in his
seat, was as pale as a ghost, and sat watching his master.
At last Mr. Benedict looked up. He seemed as if he had been deprived of
the power of speech. His face was full of pain and fright. "I do not
know what to say to this," he said.
"Oh, you don't! I thought you wouldn't! Still, we should like to know
your opinion of the instrument," said Mr. Cavendish.
"I don't think you would like to know it, sir," said Benedict, quietly.
"What does the witness insinuate?" exclaimed the lawyer, jumping to his
feet. "No insinuations, sir!"
"Insinuations are very apt to breed insinuations," said the Judge,
quietly. "The witness has manifested no disinclination to answer your
direct questions."
"Very well," said Mr. Cavendish. "Is your signature at the foot of that
assignment?"
"It is not, sir."
"Perhaps those are not the signatures of the witnesses," said Mr.
Cavendish, with an angry sneer.
"Two of them, I have no doubt, are forgeries," responded Mr. Balfour,
with an excited voice.
Mr. Cavendish knew that it would do no good to manifest anger; so he
laughed. Then he sat down by the side of Mr. Belcher, and said something
to him, and they both laughed together.
"That's all," he said, nodding to the witness.
"May it please the Court," said Mr. Balfour, "we got along so well with
the question of identity that, with the leave of the defendant's
counsel, I propose, in order to save the time of the Court, that we push
our inquiries directly into the validity of this assignment. This is the
essential question, and the defendant has only to establish the validity
of the instrument to bring the case to an end at once. This done, the
suit will be abandoned."
"Certainly," said Mr. Cavendish, rising. "I agree to the scheme with the
single provision on behalf of the defendant, that he shall not be
debarred from his pleading of a denial of profits, in any event."
"Agreed," said Mr. Balfour.
"Very well," said Mr. Cavendish. "I shall call Cornelius Phipps, the
only surviving witness of the assignment."
But Cornelius Phipps did not appear when he was called. A second call
produced the same result. He was not in the house. He was sought for in
every possible retreat about the house, but could not be found.
Cornelius Phipps had mysteriously disappeared.
After consulting Mr. Belcher, Mr. Cavendish announced that the witness
who had been called was essential at the present stage of the case. He
thought it possible that in the long confinement of the court-room,
Phipps had become suddenly ill, and gone home. He hoped, for the honor
of the plaintiff in the case, that nothing worse had happened, and
suggested that the Court adjourn until the following day.
And the Court adjourned, amid tumultuous whispering. Mr. Belcher was
apparently oblivious of the fact, and sat and stared, until touched upon
the shoulder by his counsel, when he rose and walked out upon a world
and into an atmosphere that had never before seemed so strange and
unreal.