IN OPEN COURT.
Who's sure of Life's game,
When Fate interferes?
For praise or for blame,
Who's sure of life's game?
A sentence--a name,
Turns joy into tears,
Who's sure of Life's game,
When Fate interferes?
This strange case--particulars of which in some mysterious way got
into the daily papers--excited much curiosity in London, and when the
preliminary inquiry into the affair took place, the court was crowded
to suffocation. The public, of course, learned all about the matter
from the newspapers, but how the reporters managed to learn so much
was most extraordinary, as they gave an account of Mrs. Belswin's
previous life--of her presence, under a false name, in the house of
her late husband--of the murder of that husband--and of the wonderful
amount of money realised by the sale of the Pole Star shares for the
daughter of the murdered man, and the woman accused of the crime. All
this, more or less garbled and exaggerated, appeared in the leading
morning papers, and the "Pethram Paradox"--so it was called--took a
prominent place among the sensations of the day. Maxwell, deeply
angered at this publicity, which would make the public judge Mrs.
Belswin guilty, before she had a chance of defending herself, made
several attempts to find Dombrain, whom he suspected of being the
author of this malignant gossip in order to damage the chance of the
unfortunate woman during her trial, but Mr. Dombrain, suspecting that
he would be looked for, made himself scarce, and until the day of the
preliminary inquiry, nothing was seen or heard of him by those on the
side of Mrs. Belswin.
Kaituna, noble-hearted girl as she was, persistently refused to
believe her mother guilty; and, through Maxwell engaged the most
prominent legal talent of the day for her defence; but although she
sought an interview with Mrs. Belswin in jail, the unhappy woman
persistently refused to see her until she was publicly proved innocent
of the terrible crime laid to her charge. At this trying time Archie
Maxwell proved himself worthy of the high opinion entertained of him
by Kaituna, and acting as Mrs. Belswin's friend did everything in his
power to assist her during the coming ordeal. Signor Ferrari too, mad
with impulsive Italian wrath at the accusation made by Mr. Dombrain,
offered himself as a witness; but on discovering that his evidence
would be detrimental to Mrs. Belswin's defence, the lawyer declined to
take advantage of his offer. As for Belk, whom Maxwell thought would
be one of the first to come forward and help the unhappy woman he
professed to love, he kept persistently out of the way, and neither by
word nor deed showed that he took the least interest in her fate. When
the day of the preliminary inquiry therefore came, Mrs. Belswin was
left with only three friends who believed in her innocence--Kaituna,
Maxwell, and Ferrari, who were all present in court when she was
placed in the prisoner's dock.
She looked terribly pale and haggard, for Mrs. Belswin, having one of
those natures which are only strong through impulse, was quite unable
to bear up against the calamity which had befallen her. All her
fierceness, her iron nerve, her reckless daring, which had
successfully coped with so many perils, had now deserted her; for this
blow, so long dreaded, having descended, she seemed unable to fight
against it, and stood silently in the dock, a pale weeping woman,
quite unlike the Borgia-like creature of other days. The follower of
Mahomet will fight bravely as long as fortune goes with him; but when
the tide turns and he believes that it is the will of Allah that evil
should befall him, he says Kismet, and bows to the decree of Heaven.
Mrs. Belswin behaved in exactly the same way--she had fought bravely
against overwhelming odds to keep her daughter and her secret, but now
that the worst had come she thought it useless to struggle against
destiny, so resigned herself to the inevitable.
The counsel for the prosecution stated that this was one of the most
painful cases that had ever come under his notice. It would be
remembered that some months previously the public had been horrified
to hear of the murder of Sir Rupert Pethram, of Thornstream,
Berkshire; who had been shot while standing at the window of his
study. In spite of the utmost vigilance of the police the person who
had committed this dastardly crime could not be discovered; but now,
by the evidence of Mr. Alfred Dombrain, the prisoner was accused of
being the guilty person. The chain of circumstances which culminated
in the committal of this crime were so extraordinary that he would
take leave to inform the court of the whole affair, and the motive for
the murder would be clearly proved against the prisoner. It appears
that many years ago the deceased baronet--who at that time had not
succeeded to the title--had married in New Zealand, where he was then
living, the prisoner, Jezebel Manners, who was a half-caste, the
daughter of a Maori mother and a European father, a woman of violent
and rash temper. One child was born of the marriage, which turned out
to be very unhappy; and eventually Mrs. Pethram eloped with an
American, called Silas Oates. The late baronet obtained a decree
absolute against her, and remained in New Zealand, where he looked
after the welfare of his motherless child, while his divorced wife
went to San Francisco with the co-respondent Oates. The divorced woman
and her lover were together for some time; but he ultimately left her,
evidently being quite unable to bear with her outrageous temper. The
prisoner then went on the stage, and sang successfully in opera for
many years under the name of Madame Tagni. Finally, about eight months
previously, she came to England, and found that her husband, by the
death of his brother, had succeeded to the title, and was living at
Thornstream, in Berkshire, with his daughter Kaituna.
The prisoner, anxious to see her child again concocted a scheme by
which to enter the house as a companion to Miss Pethram. Sir Rupert
had gone out to New Zealand on business, and, according to his
instructions, Mr. Dombrain advertised for a companion for Miss Pethram
during his absence. The prisoner applied, and was engaged for the
situation by Mr. Dombrain, who was quite in ignorance of her
antecedents, and her connection with the late baronet. She took
possession of the situation, and while Sir Rupert was absent
everything went well. On his arrival, however, he had an interview
with the so-called Mrs. Belswin, and, recognising his guilty wife,
ordered her out of the house. This interview took place at night,
about nine o'clock, in the study at Thornstream; and Mrs. Belswin left
the house by the window, vowing vengeance for the course adopted by
her husband. Instead, therefore, of going away she lurked outside on
the terrace, and when her husband came to the window she shot him with
a pistol she had in her possession. Having committed this terrible
crime, she had coolly stepped across the body of the man she had
murdered, and re-entering the house went to her bedroom. All the
household being ignorant alike of her interview with the late baronet
and her antecedents, she was never for a moment suspected, except by
Mr. Dombrain. That gentleman, hearing the noise of Mrs. Belswin coming
upstairs, looked out of the door of his bedroom and saw her pass him.
Next morning, when the crime was known, he would have denounced her;
but owing to the darkness of the night was unable to be certain of the
identity of the woman who crept upstairs. The other day, however, he
taxed Mrs. Belswin with the crime; and although she denied it, yet
from her agitated manner he felt certain she was the criminal, upon
which he at once gave information to the police. Mrs. Belswin was
arrested on a warrant, and now stood charged with the murder of her
late husband, Sir Rupert Pethram. The first and only witness he would
call would be Mr. Alfred Dombrain, upon whose accusation the prisoner
had been arrested.
This skilfully worded speech made things look very black against Mrs.
Belswin; and when Dombrain stepped into the witness-box to
substantiate the terrible statements made by the counsel for the
prosecution, there were many who looked upon the prisoner's committal
for trial as a foregone conclusion.
Mr. Dombrain, having been duly sworn, stated that he had acted as the
legal adviser of the late baronet, and in pursuance of his
instructions had engaged the prisoner as a companion for Miss Pethram.
He was wholly ignorant of her former life, and that she was the
divorced wife of the late Sir Rupert, but as she seemed a suitable
person for a chaperon, he had engaged her at once, upon which she went
down to Thornstream in order to take up her duties. Upon the arrival
of Sir Rupert in England he had gone down to Thornstream in connection
with some legal business the late baronet wished to see him about Mrs.
Belswin was not at Thornstream on his arrival, as she had gone to
London a few days previous about some private matter; but she arrived
at Thornstream on the same afternoon as he did. She did not appear at
dinner, but on leaving the study after an interview with Sir Rupert
he had seen the prisoner enter. As she did not re-appear in the
drawing-room, where he was sitting with Miss Pethram, he retired to
bed, and he believed Miss Pethram also retired to bed, having a bad
headache. Towards eleven o'clock he thought he heard the sound of a
shot, but was not certain, although he sprang out of bed and went to
the door of his room. It was near the staircase, and as he leaned over
the banisters in the darkness, he heard the study door shut with a
slight noise, after which Mrs. Belswin came hastily upstairs, and
went into her own room. Next morning, when the crime was discovered,
she said she had not been out of her room at that hour. He was not
quite sure if it was Mrs. Belswin, as the staircase was dark. A week
ago she came to his office on business, and he accused her of having
committed the murder, which accusation she at first denied, but
afterwards half confessed to her guilt. He at once gave information to
the police, and she was arrested.
In cross-examination Mr. Dombrain said he had found out all about the
prisoner's relations with the deceased from some papers in his
possession, and knew Mrs. Belswin was the divorced wife from the
description given of her in the handwriting of the deceased.
COUNSEL FOR THE ACCUSED.--I see that at the inquiry into the death of
Sir Rupert you said you had not heard a pistol-shot.
MR. DOMBRAIN.--I was not certain and sooner than declare I heard, I
thought it best to reply in the negative.
COUNSEL.--Is it not true, Mr. Dombrain, that you have a grudge against
the prisoner?
DOMBRAIN.--No, it is not true.
COUNSEL.--The prisoner declares that she knew you in New Zealand.
DOMBRAIN.--It is a lie. I never was in New Zealand.
COUNSEL.--Not under the name of Damberton?
DOMBRAIN.--No.
COUNSEL.--I understand your name has been struck off the rolls.
DOMBRAIN.--I don't see what that has to do with the case.
COUNSEL.--Ah, you are rather dense; I will explain. Your real name is
Alfred Damberton. You were imprisoned in New Zealand for embezzlement,
and on your release you came to England. Is this not true?
DOMBRAIN (violently).--No sir! It is false! Who accuses me? The
prisoner!--and why? Because I have brought her to justice. Through her
lies I have been struck off the rolls, but I can prove myself
innocent, and will do so shortly!
COUNSEL.--I wish you every success, Mr. Dombrain, but I am afraid you
will find it difficult!
When Dombrain left the witness-box, the counsel for the prosecution
said he had no more witnesses to call at present, upon which the
counsel for the defence made a short speech, and said that as his
learned brother had set the example of brevity, he would do the same
thing, and only call one witness in defence of the prisoner. The name
of that witness was Samson Belk.
Mrs. Belswin looked surprised when she heard this name, not for a
moment thinking that Belk's evidence could do her any good; and
Kaituna also appeared to be astonished, as she knew how Belk had kept
out of the way since her mother's arrest. Maxwell's face, however,
wore a contented smile, and this smile was reflected in the
countenance of the defending counsel, so, without doubt, these two men
knew that Belk's evidence was valuable, and were prepared to abide by
the result.
Samson Belk, stepping into the witness-box, made oath according to
law, and gave the following remarkable evidence in favour of the
prisoner:--
He had been steward to the deceased baronet, and on the night of the
murder had come up to the hall to ask his master a question about the
discharge of farm hands. If was nearly eleven o'clock when he arrived
at the door of the hall, and he hesitated whether to disturb Sir
Rupert at that hour. However, seeing the light streaming out of the
window of Sir Rupert's study, he advanced along in that direction, but
on hearing angry voices he had hidden himself behind a bush on the
terrace, in order to see what was the matter. The voices were those of
Sir Rupert and another man, whose tones he did not recognise. The
other man was imploring Sir Rupert to keep some secret, but the
baronet refused, and said all the world would know the truth on the
morrow. The man began to threaten, and Sir Rupert thrust him out of
the window on to the terrace, telling him he would ruin him by
revealing everything. So strong had been the baronet's push that the
man fell down upon the side of the terrace near the balustrade, and
Sir Rupert, with outstretched hand, stood pointing at him. The light
of the lamp within shone on the man crouching at the baronet's feet,
and I saw him take out something--I did not know what--and point it at
Sir Rupert, who stood in the window. There was no sound, and yet the
baronet fell, and the man, with a cry of triumph, rushed away into the
darkness. Witness ran forward to see what was the matter with his
master, and found him dead. He (the witness) had had a quarrel with
Sir Rupert on that day, and being afraid lest, if he gave the alarm,
he should be accused of the murder, and could not defend himself, he
went away, and said nothing about it. The crime was discovered next
morning, but no suspicion was fixed upon him, as no one had known of
his presence on the terrace that night.
COUNSEL FOR THE PROSECUTION.--But could you not denounce the man who
committed the crime?
BELK.--I did not know who he was--I never saw him before or since the
light fell on him through the window, until----
COUNSEL FOR THE PROSECUTION.--Until when?
BELK.--Until I saw him to-day.
There was a great sensation in court, and every one looked at one
another in astonishment, while a gleam of triumph flashed from the
eyes of the prisoner.
COUNSEL FOR THE PROSECUTION.--If you saw him to-day, as you say, do you
know his name?
BELK.--Yes.
COUNSEL FOR THE PROSECUTION.--And the name of this man who killed Sir
Rupert?
BELK.--The man who accuses the prisoner of the murder--the man you
call Dombrain.
If there was excitement before, there was ten times more excitement
now, and the crier found great difficulty in reducing all present to
silence. There was a sudden pause in the noise, and the prisoner,
raising her eyes to heaven, said in a solemn voice--
"It is true! I am innocent of this crime. He has fallen himself into
the pit he digged for another."
Yes, she was innocent, and the man who accused her guilty; but
when they looked for Dombrain, in order to arrest him, he had
disappeared--vanished into the depths of mighty London, when he heard
his name coupled with that of murder.