A LEGAL BATTLE.
And now, after hauling the reader pretty well all over Australia—from
mountain-station to out-back holding, from cattle-camp to buffalo
run—we must ask him to take a seat in the Supreme Court at Sydney, to
hear the trial of the “great Grant Will Case.”
Gavan Blake had made no effort towards compromise. He knew the risk he
was running, but he had determined to see it through. The love, the
ambition, the hope that had once possessed him had turned to a grim
desperate hatred, and he would risk everything rather than withdraw the
case. He kept Red Mick and Peggy up to the mark with assurances that
she was certain to win. Neither he nor they knew that Considine had
been found. Even the most respectable solicitors sometimes display
acuteness, and the old man’s return had been kept secret by Pinnock, so
that public opinion anticipated Peggy’s victory.
At last came the day of trial. Every seat in the Court was filled, and
a mass of the unwashed hung over the gallery rail, gazing at the show
provided for their entertainment. Mary Grant and Mrs. Gordon went into
Court at the suggestion of their leading Counsel, Bouncer, Q.C., who
was nothing if not theatrical. He wanted them there to see the
overthrow of the enemy, and to lend point to his invective against the
intruders who were trying to take away their birthright. A small army
of Doyles and Donohoes, who had come down for the case, were hanging
about dressed in outlandish garments, trying to look as if they would
not tell a lie for untold gold. The managing clerks were in and out
like little dogs at a fair, hunting up witnesses, scanning the jury
list, arranging papers for production, and keeping a wary eye on the
enemy. Punctually as the clock struck ten, the Judge strutted into
Court with as much pomp as a man-of-war sailing into a small port;
depositing himself on the Bench, he glared round for a few seconds, and
said to the associate, “Call the first case,” in a matter-of-fact tone,
just as if he did not know what the first case was going to be. A
little rustle went round the Court as people settled themselves down
for the battle.
The case for Peggy was set forth by the great Jewish barrister,
Manasseh, Q.C. He was famous for his skill in enlisting the sympathies
of the jury from the outset. He drew a moving picture of the sorrows of
Peggy, disowned by her husband’s relatives and the case proceeded so
far that he had put the marriage certificate in evidence when Blake,
who had been away for a few minutes rushed into Court and touched
Manasseh on the shoulder, bringing him to an abrupt stop.
Manasseh asked the Judge to excuse him for a moment while he conferred
with his juniors and Blake. After a short but excited conference he
rose again and—but first we must hear what had happened outside.
While all concerned were in Court listening to Manasseh, Considine had
been smuggled into the witnesses’ room and, being bored and worried,
had strayed into the verandah of the Court buildings. He had been
hauled into consultations with barristers, and examined and badgered
and worried to death. The hard Sydney pavements had made his feet sore.
The city ways were not his ways, and the mere mental effort of catching
trains and omnibuses, and keeping appointments, and having fixed
meal-times, was inexpressibly wearing to a man who had never been tied
to time in his life.
And what a dismal prospect he had before him! To go over to England and
take up a position for which he was wholly unfitted, without a friend
who would understand his ideas, and in whom he could confide. Then his
thoughts turned to Peggy—Peggy, square-built, determined, masterful,
capable; just the very person to grapple with difficulties; a woman
whose nerve a regiment of duchesses would fail to shake. He thought of
her many abilities, and admitted to himself that after all was said and
done, if he had only been able to gratify her wishes (and they did not
seem so extravagant now) she would have been a perfect helpmate for
him. His mind went back to the weird honeymoon at Pike’s pub., to the
little earthen-floored dining-room, with walls of sacking and a slab
table, over which Peggy presided with such force of character. He
thought of the two bushmen whom Peggy had nursed through the fever with
rough tenderness; and then, turning suddenly, he found Peggy standing
at his elbow.
For a second neither spoke. Then Considine said, with an air of forced
jauntiness, “Well, Peggy, you won’t be comin’ to England with me,
then?”
“Haven’t been asked,” said Peggy.
“I heard you was goin’ to settle at Kiley’s Crossin’, lending money to
the cockatoos.”
Peggy looked at him with a meaning glance.
“Ye should know me better nor that, Paddy,” she said.
This cleared the way tremendously. The gaunt bushman hitched himself a
little nearer, and spoke in an insinuating way. “I’m pretty tired of
this case meself, I dunno how you feel about it.”
“Tired!” said Peggy. “I’m wore out. Fair wore out,” and she heaved a
sigh like an elephant.
That sigh did for old Considine. Hurriedly he unburdened his mind.
“Well, look’ee here, Peggy—I’ve got whips of stuff now, and I’ve got to
go to England for it. You come along o’ me again, and we’ll knock all
this business on the head. Let the Gordons alone—they’re decent young
fellows, the both of ’em—and come along o’ me to England. That young
English feller reckons we’d be as good as the Prince of Wales, very
near. Will you come, Peggy?”
It is the characteristic of great minds to think quickly, and act
promptly. Peggy did both.
“Mick!” she said, calling to her brother in a sharp, authoritative
voice: “Mick! I’ve been talking to Paddy here, and we’ve reckoned we’ve
had enough of this fooling, and we’re off to England. You go in and
tell old Fuzzy-Head” (she meant the Judge) “that I’m tired of this
case, and I ain’t goin’ on wid it. Come on, Paddy, will we go and get
some tea?”
“Yes, and there’s some tremenjus fine opals in a shop down this way
I’ll buy you!” said Considine, as they started to walk away from the
Court.
At that moment Blake came out of Court, saw them, and stepped in front
of Peggy.
“Who is this man?” he said.
Peggy had never quite forgiven his domineering at Tarrong, and turned
on him with a snap.
“This is my ’usband,” she said, “Mr. Patrick Henery Considine. Him
whose name is put down as Keogh on the marriage stiffykit I give you.”
Then Blake knew that he had played and lost—lost hopelessly,
irretrievably. But there was yet something to do to secure his own
safety. He rushed back into Court, and whispered a few words to
Manasseh; and Manasseh, after the short conference we mentioned some
pages back, rose and informed the Court that his client withdrew her
claim. Now, while Blake was out of Court, Mr. Bouncer, Mary’s counsel,
had got from the Judge’s Associate the certificate that had been put in
evidence. Ellen Harriott, sitting with Mary and Mrs. Gordon behind him,
gave a little cry of surprise when she saw the paper. She touched Mr.
Bouncer on the shoulder, and for a few seconds they held an excited
dialogue in whispers.
So Mr. Bouncer rose as Manasseh sat down, with a smile of satisfaction
on his face.
“I must object to any withdrawal, your Honor,” he said. “My client’s
vast interests are still liable to be assailed by any claimant. I wish
your Honor to insist that the case be heard. A claim has been made here
of a most dastardly nature, and I submit that your Honor will not allow
the claimants to withdraw without some investigation. I will ask your
Honor to put Gavan Blake in the box.”
Mr. Manasseh objected. He said that there was no longer any case before
the Court; and Gavan Blake, white to the lips, waited for the Judge’s
decision. As he waited, he looked round and caught the eye of Ellen
Harriott. Cool, untroubled, the heavy-lidded eyes met his, and he saw
no hope there. She had neither forgiven nor forgotten.
Now, it so happened that the Judge felt rather baulked at the sudden
collapse of the big case, in which he had intended to play a star part.
“Why do you want to put plaintiff’s attorney in the box, Mr. Bouncer?”
he said.
“I want to examine him as to how and when the name of William Grant got
on that certificate. I have evidence to prove that the name on it, only
a few months ago, was that of Patrick Keogh.”
“Ha, hum!” said the little Judge. “I don’t see—eh—um—that I can decide
anything—ah—whatever. Case is withdrawn. Ha, hum. But in the interests
of justice, and seeing—seeing, I say,” he went on, warming to his work
as the question laid itself open before him, “that there is serious
suspicion of fraud and forgery, it would be wrong on my part to allow
the case to close without some investigation in the interests of
justice. As to Mr. Manasseh’s objection, that the Court is _functus
officio_ so far as this case is concerned, I uphold that contention;
but, in exercise of the power that the Court holds over its officers, I
consider that I have the power—and that I should exercise the power—of
putting the solicitor in the box to explain how this document came into
its present state. Let Mr. Blake go into the box.”
But while the little Judge was delivering his well-rounded sentences,
Blake had slipped out of Court and made off to his lodgings. He had
failed in everything. He might perhaps keep out of gaol; but the blow
to his reputation was fatal. He had played for a big stake and lost,
and he saw before him only drudgery and lifelong shame.
He had reached his lodgings, half-turned at the door, and saw behind
him the Court tipstaff, who had been sent after him.
“The Judge wants you back at the Court, Mr. Blake,” said the tipstaff.
“All right. Wait till I run up to my room for some papers. I’ll be down
in a minute,” and he ran upstairs.
The tipstaff waited cheerfully enough, until he heard the crack of a
revolver-shot echo through the passages of the big boarding-house. Then
he rushed upstairs—to find that Gavan Blake had gone before another
Court than the one that was waiting for him so anxiously.