Next morning my trial was resumed.
There was the same array of counsel; the same crowd of curious onlookers
lounging on the benches like carrion crows around a carcase; the same
strange, half-visionary procession of judges, lawyers and witnesses, who
passed and repassed before me, sometimes ludicrous, but generally gloomy
and depressing.
The jury looked pale and weary. They had been locked up during the
night, and now several of them were yawning. None gave indication that
they felt the responsibility of the sentence they had to pronounce.
I sat in the dock heedless of everything; I had grown callous. I had
one thought only: Why had not Vera made her promised explanation?
A few minor witnesses were called, and the case for the prosecution
closed.
At last Mr Roland rose to make his speech in my defence. The
circumstantial evidence already produced was, I knew, sufficient to
cause the jury to find me guilty, and I listened in rapt attention to
the clear, concise arguments of the famous advocate.
But how unsatisfactory was his speech--how weak was his defence! With a
sinking heart I saw more than one of the jury smile incredulously when
my innocence was asserted.
"I admit, gentlemen," said Mr Roland, in the course of his address,
"that this case is enshrouded in mystery; but while asserting that the
prisoner is innocent, I tell you plainly there is a secret. The key to
this enigma is known to one person alone, and that person, for reasons
with which I am myself unacquainted, is not in a position to divulge it.
That this secret bears directly upon the crime is obvious, nevertheless
it is a most unfortunate circumstance that the mystery cannot be wholly
elucidated by a satisfactory explanation. However, I have several
witnesses whom I purpose calling before you; and having heard them, I
shall ask you to discharge the prisoner, feeling assured you will be
convinced that he is entirely innocent."
"But, Mr Roland, this is a most extraordinary case," interposed the
judge. "You speak of a person who knows the secret and refuses to give
evidence. If this is so, this person is party to the crime. To whom do
you refer?"
Counsel held a brief consultation with his junior, then rose again.
The Court was all expectancy.
"I refer, m'lord, to no less a person than the prisoner's wife!"
The reply caused a sensation. Vera knew the secret! I was not wrong.
"Ah, that is unfortunate," exclaimed the judge, disappointedly. "It is
impossible to call her in a case of this description."
At that moment the usher handed Mr Roland a note. He read it hastily,
and, raising his hand, said:
"The lady has just arrived in court, and is about to produce important
evidence, m'lord."
The silence was unbroken, save for the _frou-frou_ of Vera's dress as
she advanced towards my counsel, and bent over him, whispering.
Mr Roland was seated close to the dock, and I strained my ears to catch
their hurried conversation.
In face of the horrible charge brought against me, the persistency with
which it was pursued, and the evidence produced in support of it, I had
been so overwhelmed by a sense of fatality that I had almost decided to
let things take their course. I knew I was innocent, nevertheless I
felt the difficulty, if not the impossibility, of proving it. Now,
however, encouraged by this proof of sympathy on the part of Vera, I
took heart.
"What will these witnesses prove?" asked Mr Roland, hurriedly.
Vera, whose face was rendered more delicate and touching by the tortures
she seemed undergoing, glanced quickly towards me, and replied:
"They will prove my husband's innocence!"
Counsel uttered an ejaculation of surprise. "Are you certain of this?"
he asked.
"Yes. If it were possible that I might be called as a witness I could
tell the Court things that would probably astonish it; but I leave
everything to the two persons I have brought," she replied in a
tremulous voice.
The jury grew impatient. The excitement was intense.
In a few moments a young and rather showily-attired woman stepped into
the box. As she turned towards me I was puzzled to know where I had
seen the face before. The features seemed quite familiar, yet I could
not recollect.
"You are Jane Maygrove?" asked my counsel.
"Yes."
"Tell us what you know of the murder of Mrs Inglewood. Relate it in
your own way."
She hesitated for a moment and commenced:
"Before I married I was maid to Mrs Inglewood. Mistress was a very
quiet lady, and lived with a cook and myself in Bedford Place. I was in
her service about three months, and although she told me she was
married--and she wore a wedding-ring--her husband never visited her.
Several foreign ladies came to see her on different occasions, but only
one gentleman. He also had the appearance of a foreigner but spoke
English without an accent. One evening, in the latter part of July,
mistress dined alone with this gentleman, and I overheard a conversation
which took place in the drawing-room afterwards. I--"
"Was this gentleman to whom you refer the prisoner?" asked Mr Roland.
"No he was not. On that night I heard the visitor advising mistress to
withdraw her money from a company which he said was on the brink of
collapsing, and place it in his hands to invest. At first she demurred,
and appeared to discredit the rumour that the company was not safe; but,
after a long argument, he exacted a promise that she would withdraw the
money and hand it over to him in cash on the fifteenth of August, when
it was arranged that he should re-invest it for her."
"And what happened on the latter date?"
"Mistress was at home during the day. A clerk called in the afternoon
and handed a small leather bag to her, for which she signed a receipt,
after counting the money. When she had finished, I saw her place the
bag under the sofa, at the same time leaving a small roll of bank-notes
upon the mantelshelf. Previously I had mentioned the matter to my young
man, and it was he who prompted me to act in the manner I did. Well,
about seven o'clock the gentleman arrived, and shortly afterwards
mistress and he went out--to the Cafe Royal, I believe--to dine, as
Mary, our cook, had been dismissed that morning for dishonesty.
"My young man urged me to get possession of the money while they were
out, saying that we could then marry, go abroad, and set up in business
with it. But my heart failed me, and I could not bring myself to commit
the robbery. About ten o'clock a telegram came, and half an hour later
mistress and the gentleman returned. When mistress read the telegram
she appeared nervous and agitated. They both entered the dining-room,
and at first conversed in low tones, but soon appeared to be in
altercation. I heard the gentleman say, `I shall not leave this house
until you let me have the money. I tell you I will not allow you to
ruin yourself.' To which mistress replied that she had changed her
mind, and should place the money in the bank instead. At this the
foreigner grew furious. Mistress urged him to go, but he would not.
Then all was quiet again. She gave me orders to lay supper in the
sitting-room upstairs, which I obeyed, she telling me that her husband
was coming home after a long journey. I wondered what the master would
say to the other gentleman, but discreetly held my tongue. It wasn't my
place to say a word. About eleven o'clock the gentleman departed very
reluctantly, and soon after midnight mistress's husband arrived.
"I opened the door to him. He was a tall, handsome man, who wore a felt
hat and long travelling ulster. He greeted mistress very cordially,
kissing her with much affection, and then they went upstairs together to
supper.
"All the evening I had been hesitating whether or not I should decamp
with the money, and while they were sitting at table I was still
thinking over the matter. The clock struck two, and roused me.
Suddenly I made up my mind to take it, so creeping back to the
drawing-room I opened the bag, abstracted the contents, and replaced it
again. Just as I was about to leave the room with the money in my hands
I heard a footstep on the stairs. I knew it was mistress! I slipped
behind the screen, hoping to escape observation. Scarcely had she
crossed the threshold when I heard another person following stealthily.
It was the foreign gentleman. `Have you decided?' he asked, in a low
whisper. `Yes,' she replied, starting at his sudden reappearance; `once
for all, I tell you I will rid myself of you.' He appeared mad with
anger. He pushed the door to, and placed his back against it. Then he
laughed a low, harsh laugh, replying, `That's not so easy, my pretty
one: remember our secret bond.' She turned upon him furiously, crying,
`Leave this house at once! Do you wish to compromise me besides
endeavouring to rob me of my money? Ah! you think I do not know you.
We have been friends because it suited my purpose; but if you dare touch
that money I will tell what I know! I will give the police the
information they seek regarding the Villeneuve affair!' This speech had
a strange effect upon him. `_Dieu_!--she knows,' he ejaculated,
involuntarily. Glaring at her with an expression of murderous hatred,
he watched her every movement. `Will you hand me over the money?' he
demanded, sternly. `No; you shall never have it. Leave this house; and
if you remain in England another week I'll carry my threat into effect.
If you fancy you can practise the confidence trick on me you are
mistaken--so, go!'
"`I shall not!' he replied, fiercely. `I will have that money,' and he
bent down in the act of drawing the bag from beneath the sofa. `Touch
it at your peril!' she cried, hoarsely. `I see you now in your true
light; you would rob a woman of her means of existence. God knows you
have brought me enough misery already!' Again he tried to obtain
possession of the bag, but once more she frustrated his design. Then
they struggled for the mastery. His face was ashen pale, and his
fingers gripped her bare arms, leaving great red marks; but she was not
to be easily vanquished, and fought like a tigress. `To-morrow,' she
said, in a terrible half-whisper, `the world shall know who stole the
Villeneuve diamonds, and I will rid myself of you forever. I will
expose your accursed villainy!' He grasped her by the wrist and dragged
her towards him. `You--you say this--to me,' he hissed, in a frenzy of
passion. `You have spoken your last words--you--you shall die.' I saw
a knife uplifted in his hand, and he plunged it in my mistress's breast
with a dull, sickening sound. She sank upon the floor, uttering a
shrill cry. For a few seconds he bent over her and seemed to be
rearranging her dress, then he snatched up the bag, took the roll of
notes from the mantelshelf, and thrusting them into his pocket, stole
noiselessly out by the back-door. I stood for a few seconds, not
knowing what to do. At last I summoned courage to approach my poor
mistress, who lay motionless; but just as I was stepping from my
hiding-place I heard some one descending the stairs. It was master! He
rushed into the room, but stopped suddenly, in horror, as he caught
sight of his wife. Bending over her, he was about to lift her, when his
eyes caught sight of something, which I suppose was the seal afterwards
found. With a loud cry of despair, and uttering words in a foreign
language, he kissed her calm white face. `I must fly,' he said, aloud,
`or I shall be suspected,' and without another word he also hurried out
of the house.
"When he had gone, I placed the money I had stolen in a small hand-bag,
and crept out by the front door. A few days later my young man and
myself sailed for Australia, and that is all I know of the murder."
There was a long pause when the voluble witness had concluded her
breathless recital.