The magistrates sat on the bench in the town-hall of Helstonleigh. But,
before the case was called on--for the police had spoken too fast in
saying they were waiting for it--Arthur became acquainted with one
great fact: that it was not Mr. Galloway who had driven matters to this
extremity. Neither was he aware that Arthur had been taken into custody.
Mr. Butterby had assumed the responsibility, and acted upon it. Mr.
Butterby, since his interview with Mr. Galloway in the morning, had
gathered, as he believed, sufficiently corroborating facts to establish,
or nearly so, the guilt of Arthur Channing. He supposed that this was
all Mr. Galloway required to remove his objection to stern measures;
and, in procuring the warrant for the capture, Mr. Butterby had acted as
for Mr. Galloway.
When Arthur was placed in the spot where he had often seen criminals
standing, his face again wore the livid hue which had overspread it in
his home. In a few moments this had changed to crimson; brow and cheeks
were glowing with it. It was a painful situation, and Arthur felt it to
the very depths of his naturally proud spirit. I don’t think you or I
should have liked it.
The circumstances were stated to the magistrates just as they have been
stated to you. The placing of the bank-note and letter in the envelope
by Mr. Galloway, his immediately fastening it down by means of the gum,
the extraction of the note, between that time and the period when
the seal was placed on it later in the day, and the fact that Arthur
Channing alone had access to it. “Except Mr. Hamish Channing, for a few
minutes,” Mr. Butterby added, “who kindly remained in the office while
his brother proceeded as far as the cathedral and back again; the other
clerks, Joseph Jenkins and Roland Yorke, being absent that afternoon.”
A deeper dye flushed Arthur’s face when Hamish’s name and share in the
afternoon’s doings were mentioned, and he bent his eyes on the floor at
his feet, and kept them there. Had Hamish not been implicated, he would
have stood there with a clear eye and a serene brow. It was that, the
all too vivid consciousness of the sin of Hamish, which took all spirit
out of him, and drove him to stand there as one under the brand
of guilt. He scarcely dared look up, lest it should be read in his
countenance that he was innocent, and Hamish guilty; he scarcely dared
to pronounce, in ever so faltering a tone, the avowal “I did it not.”
Had it been to save his life from the scaffold, he could not have spoken
out boldly and freely that day. There was the bitter shock of the crime,
felt for Hamish’s own sake: Hamish whom they had all so loved, so looked
up to: and there was the dread of the consequences to Mr. Channing in
the event of discovery. Had the penalty been hanging, I believe that
Arthur would have gone to it, rather than betray Hamish. But you must
not suppose he did not _feel_ it for himself; there were moments when he
feared lest he should not carry it through.
Mr. Butterby was waiting for a witness--Mr. Galloway himself: and
meanwhile, he entertained the bench with certain scraps, anecdotal and
other, premising what would be proved before them. Jenkins would
show that the prisoner had avowed in his presence, it would take a
twenty-pound note to clear him from his debts, or hard upon it--
“No,” interrupted the hitherto silent prisoner, to the surprise of those
present, “that is not true. It is correct that I did make use of words
to that effect, but I spoke them in jest. I and Roland Yorke were one
day speaking of debts, and I jokingly said a twenty-pound note would pay
mine, and leave me something out of it. Jenkins was present, and he
may have supposed I spoke in earnest. In point of fact I did not owe
anything.”
It was an assertion more easily made than proved. Arthur Channing might
have large liabilities upon him, for all that appeared in that court to
the contrary. Mr. Butterby handed the seal to the bench, who examined it
curiously.
“I could have understood this case better had any stranger or strangers
approached the letter,” observed one of the magistrates, who knew the
Channings personally, and greatly respected their high character. “You
are sure you are not mistaken in supposing no one came in?” he added,
looking kindly at Arthur.
“Certainly no one came in whilst I was alone in the office, sir,” was
the unhesitating answer.
The magistrate spoke in an under-tone to those beside him. “That avowal
is in his favour. Had he taken the note, one might suppose he would
be anxious to make it appear that strangers did enter, and so throw
suspicion off himself.”
“I have made very close inquiry, and cannot find that the office was
entered at all that afternoon,” observed Mr. Butterby. Mr. Butterby
_had_ made close inquiry; and, to do him justice, he did not seek to
throw one shade more of guilt upon Arthur than he thought the case
deserved. “Mr. Hamish Channing also--”
Mr. Butterby stopped. There, standing within the door, was Hamish
himself. In passing along the street he had seen an unusual commotion
around the town-hall; and, upon inquiring its cause, was told that
Arthur Channing was under examination, on suspicion of having stolen the
bank-note, lost by Mr. Galloway.
To look at Hamish you would have believed him innocent and unconscious
as the day. He strode into the justice-room, his eye flashing, his brow
haughty, his colour high. Never had gay Hamish looked so scornfully
indignant. He threw his glance round the crowded court in search of
Arthur, and it found him.
Their eyes met. A strange gaze it was, going out from the one to the
other; a gaze which the brothers had never in all their lives exchanged.
Arthur’s spoke of shame all too palpably--he could not help it in that
bitter moment--shame for his brother. And Hamish shrank under it. If
ever one cowered visibly in this world, Hamish Channing did then. A low,
suppressed cry went up from Arthur’s heart: whatever fond, faint doubt
may have lingered in his mind, it died out from that moment.
Others noticed the significant look exchanged between them; but they,
not in the secret, saw only, on the part of Hamish, what they took for
vexation at his brother’s position. It was suggested that it would save
time to take the evidence of Mr. Hamish Channing at once. Mr. Galloway’s
might be received later.
“What evidence?” demanded Hamish, standing before the magistrates in
a cold, uncompromising manner, and speaking in a cold, uncompromising
tone. “I have none to give. I know nothing of the affair.”
“Not much, we are aware; but what little you do know must be spoken, Mr.
Hamish Channing.”
They did not swear him. These were only informal, preliminary
proceedings. Country courts of law are not always conducted according to
orthodox rules, nor was that of Helstonleigh. There would be another
and a more formal examination before the committal of the prisoner for
trial--if committed he should be.
A few unimportant questions were put to Hamish, and then he was asked
whether he saw the letter in question.
“I saw a letter which I suppose to have been the one,” he replied. “It
was addressed to Mr. Robert Galloway, at Ventnor.”
“Did you observe your brother take it into Mr. Galloway’s private room?”
“Yes,” answered Hamish. “In putting the desks straight before departing
for college, my brother carried the letter into Mr. Galloway’s room and
left it there. I distinctly remember his doing so.”
“Did you see the letter after that?”
“No.”
“How long did you remain alone while your brother was away?”
“I did not look at my watch,” irritably returned Hamish, who had spoken
resentfully throughout, as if some great wrong were being inflicted upon
him in having to speak at all.
“But you can guess at the time?”
“No, I can’t,” shortly retorted Hamish. “And ‘guesses’ are not
evidence.”
“Was it ten minutes?”
“It may have been. I know he seemed to be back almost as soon as he had
gone.”
“Did any person--clerk, or stranger, or visitor, or otherwise--come into
the office during his absence from it?”
“No.”
“No person whatever?”
“No person whatever. I think,” continued Hamish, volunteering an opinion
upon the subject, although he knew it was out of all rule and precedent
to do so, “that there is a great deal of unprofitable fuss being made
about the matter. The money must have been lost in going through the
post; it is impossible to suppose otherwi--”
Hamish was stopped by a commotion. Clattering along the outer hall, and
bursting in at the court door, his black hair disordered, his usually
pale cheeks scarlet, his nostrils working with excitement, came Roland
Yorke. He was in a state of fierce emotion. Learning, as he had done by
accident, that Arthur had been arrested upon the charge, he took up the
cause hotly, gave vent to a burst of passionate indignation (in which
he abused every one under the sun, except Arthur), and tore off to
the town-hall. Elbowing the crowd right and left, in his impetuosity,
pushing one policeman here and another there, who would have obstructed
his path, he came up to Arthur and ranged himself by his side, linking
his arm within his in an outburst of kindly generosity.
“Old fellow, who has done this?”
“Mr. Roland Yorke!” exclaimed the bench, indignantly. “What do you mean
by this behaviour? Stand away, if you please, sir.”
“I’ll stand away when Arthur Channing stands away,” retorted Yorke,
apparently ignoring whose presence he was in. “Who accuses him? Mr.
Galloway does not. This is your doing, Butterby.”
“Take care that their worships don’t commit you for contempt of court,”
retorted Mr. Butterby. “You are going on for it, Roland Yorke.”
“Let them commit me, if they will,” foamed Roland. “I am not going to
see a friend falsely accused, and not stand up for him. Channing no more
touched that money than any of you did. The post-office must have had
it.”
“A moment, Mr. Roland Yorke: if you can calm yourself sufficiently to
answer as a rational being,” interposed the magistrate who had addressed
Arthur. “Have you any proof to urge in support of your assertion that
the prisoner did not touch it?”
“Proof, sir!” returned Roland, subsiding, however, into a tone of
more respect: “does it want proof to establish the innocence of Arthur
Channing? Every action of his past life is proof. He is honest as the
day.”
“This warm feeling does you credit, in one sense--”
“It does me no credit at all,” fiercely interrupted Roland. “I don’t
defend him because he is my friend; I don’t defend him because we are in
the same office, and sit side by side at the same desk; I do it, because
I know him to be innocent.”
“How do you know it?”
“He _could_ not be guilty. He is incapable of it. Better accuse me, or
Jenkins, than accuse him!”
“You and Jenkins were not at the office during the suspected time.”
“Well, I know we were not,” acknowledged Roland, lowering his voice to
a more reasonable tone. “And, just because it happened, by some
cross-grained luck, that Channing was, Butterby pitches upon him, and
accuses him of the theft. He never did it! and I’ll say it with my last
breath.”
With some trouble: threatenings on the part of the court; and more
explosions from himself: Mr. Roland Yorke was persuaded to retire.
He went as far as the back of the room, and there indulged in
under-currents of wrath, touching injustice and Mr. Butterby, to a
select circle who gathered round him. Warm-hearted and generous, by fits
and starts, was Roland Yorke; he had inherited it with his Irish blood
from Lady Augusta.
But meanwhile, where was Mr. Galloway? He did not make his appearance,
and it was said he could not be found. Messenger after messenger was
despatched to his office, to his house; and at length Mr. Butterby went
himself. All in vain; his servants knew nothing about him. Jenkins, who
had the office to himself, thought he must be “somewhere in the town,”
as he had not said he was going out of it. Mr. Butterby went back
crest-fallen, and confessed that, not to take up longer the time of
their worships unnecessarily, the case must be remanded to the morrow.
“We will take bail,” said the magistrates, before the application was
made. “One surety will be sufficient; fifty pounds.”
At that, Mr. Roland, who by this time was standing in a sullen manner
against a pillar of the court, his violence gone, and biting his nails
moodily, made a rush to the front again, heeding little who he knocked
down in the process. “I’ll be bail,” he cried eagerly. “That is, Lady
Augusta will--as I am not a householder. I’ll hunt her up and bring her
here.”
He was turning in impetuous haste to “hunt up” Lady Augusta, when Hamish
Channing imperatively waved to him to be still, and spoke to the bench.
“My father’s security will be sufficient, I presume?”
“Quite so.”
Since Mr. Channing’s incapacity, power to sign and to act for him had
been vested in Hamish; and the matter was concluded at once. The court
poured out its crowd. Hamish was on the point of taking Arthur’s arm,
but was pushed aside by Roland Yorke, who seized upon it as if he could
never make enough of him.
“The miserable idiots! to bring such a charge against you, Arthur! I
have been half mad ever since I heard of it.”
“Thank you, Yorke. You are very kind--”
“‘Kind!’ Don’t talk that school-girl rubbish!” passionately interrupted
Roland. “If I were taken up upon a false charge, wouldn’t you stand by
me?”
“That I would; were it false or true.”
“I’ll pay that Butterby out, if it’s ten years hence! And you, knowing
your own innocence, could stand before them there, meek-faced as a
tame cat, letting Butterby and the bench have it their own way! A
calm temper, such as yours, Arthur, may be very--what do they call
it?--Christian; but I’m blest if it’s useful! I should have made their
ears tingle, had they put me there, as they have not tingled for many a
day.”
“Who do you suppose took the note?” inquired Hamish of Roland Yorke,
speaking for the first time.
“Bother the note!” was the rejoinder of Mr. Roland. “It’s nothing to us
who took it. Arthur didn’t. Go and ask the post-office.”
“But the seal?” Hamish was beginning in a friendly tone of argument.
Roland bore him down.
“Who cares for the seal? I don’t. If Galloway had stuck himself upon
the letter, instead of his seal, and never got off till it reached the
cousin Galloway’s hand, I wouldn’t care. It tells nothing. Do you _want_
to find your brother guilty?” he continued, in a tone of scorn. “You did
not half stand up for him, Hamish Channing, as I’d expect a brother
to stand up for me. Now then, you people! Are you thinking we are live
kangaroos escaped from a menagerie? Be off about your own business!
Don’t come after us.”
The last was addressed to a crowd, who had followed upon their heels
from the court, staring, with that innate delicacy for which the English
are remarkable. They had seen Arthur Channing a thousand times before,
every one of them, but, as he had been arrested, they must look at him
again. Yorke’s scornful reproach and fierce face somewhat scattered
them.
“If it had been Galloway’s doings, I’d never have put my foot inside
his confounded old office again!” went on Roland. “No! and my lady might
have tried her best to force me. Lugging a fellow up for a pitiful,
paltry sum of twenty pounds!--who is as much a gentleman as
himself!--who, as his own senses might tell him, wouldn’t touch it
with the end of his finger! But it was that Butterby’s handiwork, not
Galloway’s.”
“Galloway must have given Butterby his instructions,” observed Hamish.
“He didn’t, then,” snapped Roland. “Jenkins says he knows he did not,
by the remarks Galloway made to him this morning. And Galloway has been
away ever since eleven o’clock, we can’t tell where. It is nobody but
that evil, mischief-making Butterby, and I’d give a crown out of my
pocket to have a good duck at him in the river!”
With regard to Mr. Galloway’s knowing nothing of the active proceedings
taken against Arthur, Roland was right. Mr. Butterby had despatched a
note to Mr. Galloway’s office at one o’clock, stating what he had done,
and requesting him to be at the office at two, for the examination--and
the note had been lying there ever since.
It was being opened now. Now--at the exact moment that Mr. Roland Yorke
was giving vent to that friendly little wish, about the river and Mr.
Butterby. Mr. Galloway had met a friend in the town, and had gone with
him a few miles by rail into the country, on unexpected business. He had
just returned to find the note, and to hear Jenkins’ account of Arthur’s
arrest.
“I am vexed at this,” he exclaimed, his tone betraying excessive
annoyance. “Butterby has exceeded his orders.”
Jenkins thought he might venture to put in a word for Arthur. He had
been intensely surprised, indeed grieved, at the whole affair; and not
the less so that he feared what he had unconsciously repeated, about a
twenty-pound note paying Arthur’s debts, might have helped it on.
“I feel as sure as can be, sir, that it was not Mr. Arthur Channing,”
he deferentially said. “I have not been in this office with him for more
than twelve months without learning something of his principles.”
“The principles of all the Channings are well known,” returned Mr.
Galloway. “No; whatever may be the apparent proofs, I cannot bring
myself to think it could be Arthur Channing. Although--” Mr. Galloway
did not say although _what_, but changed the topic abruptly. “Are they
in court now?”
“I expect so, sir. Mr. Yorke is not back yet.”
Mr. Galloway walked to the outer door, deliberating what his course
should be. The affair grieved him more than he could express; it angered
him; chiefly for his old friend Mr. Channing’s sake. “I had better go up
to the Guildhall,” he soliloquized, “and see if--”
There they were, turning the corner of the street; Roland Yorke, Hamish,
and Arthur; and the followers behind. Mr. Galloway waited till they came
up. Hamish did not enter, or stop, but went straight home. “They will
be so anxious for news,” he exclaimed. Not a word had been exchanged
between the brothers. “No wonder that he shuns coming in!” thought
Arthur. Roland Yorke threw his hat from him in silence, and sat down
in his place at the desk. Mr. Galloway touched Arthur with his finger,
motioned him towards the private room, and stood there facing him,
speaking gravely.
“Tell me the truth, as before God. Are you innocent or guilty? What you
say shall not be used against you.”
Quick as lightning, in all solemn earnestness, the word “innocent”
was on Arthur’s lips. It had been better for him, perhaps, that he had
spoken it. But, alas! that perplexity, as to how far he might venture to
assert his own innocence, was upon him still. What impression could this
hesitation, coupled with the suspicious circumstances, make upon the
mind of Mr. Galloway?
“Have you _no_ answer?” emphatically asked Mr. Galloway.
“I am not guilty, sir.”
Meanwhile, what do you suppose were the sensations of Mr. Channing? We
all know that anguish of mind is far more painful to bear when the
body is quiescent, than when it is in motion. In any great trouble, any
terrible suspense, look at our sleepless nights! We lie, and toss, and
turn; and say, When will the night be gone? In the day we can partially
shake it off, walking hither and thither; the keenness of the anguish is
lost in exertion.
Mr. Channing could not take this exertion. Lying there always, his days
were little better to him than nights, and this strange blow, which had
fallen so suddenly and unexpectedly, nearly overwhelmed him. Until that
afternoon he would have confidently said that his son might have been
trusted with a room full of untold gold. He would have said it still,
but for Arthur’s manner: it was that which staggered him. More than one
urgent message had been despatched for Mr. Galloway, but that gentleman
was unable to go to him until late in the evening.
“My friend,” said Mr. Galloway, bending over the sofa, when they were
alone, “I am more grieved at this than you can be.”
Mr. Channing clasped his hand. “Tell me what you think yourself; the
simple truth; I ask it, Galloway, by our long friendship. Do you think
him innocent or guilty?”
There might be no subterfuge in answer to words so earnest, and Mr.
Galloway did not attempt any. He bent lower, and spoke in a whisper. “I
believe him to be guilty.”
Mr. Channing closed his eyes, and his lips momentarily moved. A word of
prayer, to be helped _to bear_, was going up to the throne of God.
“But, never think that it was I who instituted these proceedings against
him,” resumed Mr. Galloway. “When I called in Butterby to my aid this
morning, I had no more notion that it was Arthur Channing who was
guilty, than I had that it was that sofa of yours. Butterby would have
cast suspicion to him then, but I repelled it. He afterwards acted upon
his own responsibility while my back was turned. It is as I say often
to my office people: I can’t stir out for a few hours but something goes
wrong! You know the details of the loss?”
“Ay; by heart,” replied Mr. Channing. “They are suspicious against
Arthur only in so far as that he was alone with the letter. Sufficient
time must have been taken, as I conclude, to wet the envelope and
unfasten the gum; and it would appear that he alone had that time. This
apparent suspicion would have been nothing to my mind, knowing Arthur as
I do, had it not been coupled with a suspicious manner.”
“There it is,” assented Mr. Galloway, warmly. “It is that manner
which leaves no room for doubt. I had him with me privately when the
examination was over, and begged him to tell me, as before God: innocent
or guilty. He could not. He stood like a statue, confused, his eyes
down, and his colour varying. He is badly constituted for the commission
of crime, for he cannot brave it out. One, knowing himself wrongfully
accused, would lay his hand upon his heart, with an upright countenance,
and say, I am innocent of this, so help me Heaven! I must confess I did
not like his manner yesterday, when he heard me say I should place it
in the hands of the police,” continued Mr. Galloway. “He grew suddenly
agitated, and begged I would not do so.”
“Ay!” cried Mr. Channing, with a groan of pain he could not wholly
suppress. “It is an incredible mystery. What could he want with the
money? The tale told about his having debts has no foundation in fact;
he has positively none.”
Mr. Galloway shook his head; he would not speak out his thoughts. He
knew that Hamish was in debt; he knew that Master Roland Yorke indulged
in expensive habits whenever he had the opportunity, and he now thought
it likely that Arthur, between the two examples, might have been drawn
in. “I shall not allow my doubts of him to go further than you,” he said
aloud. “And I shall put a summary stop to the law proceedings.”
“How will you do that, now that they are publicly entered upon?” asked
Mr. Channing.
“I’ll manage it,” was the reply. “We’ll see which is strongest, I or
Butterby.”
When they were gathering together for the reading, that night, Arthur
took his place as usual. Mr. Channing looked at him sternly, and spoke
sternly--in the presence of them all. “Will your conscience allow you to
join in this?”
How it stung him! Knowing himself innocent; seeing Hamish, the real
culprit, basking there in their love and respect, as usual; the
unmerited obloquy cast upon him was almost too painful to bear. He did
not answer; he was battling down his rebellious spirit; and the gentle
voice of Mrs. Channing rose instead.
“James, there is all the more need for him to join in it, if things are
as you fear.” And Mr. Channing applied himself to the reading.
“My son, if thou come to serve the Lord, prepare thy soul for
temptation. Set thy heart aright, and constantly endure, and make not
haste in time of trouble.”
It was a portion of Scripture rarely chosen, and, perhaps for that
reason, it fell upon Arthur with greater force. As he listened, the
words brought healing with them; and his sore spirit was soothed, and
grew trusting and peaceful as that of a little child.