"My lord, that man who is going to give evidence, is--"
"Enough?" interposed the judge. "If you cannot be silent, you will be
removed to the cells during the remainder of your trial."
The warder at my side grasped me roughly by the arm, and forcing me into
my chair, whispered, "Don't be a fool! Such excitement can do you no
good."
I saw how utterly helpless I was, yet I was determined to denounce this
man by some means. The midnight scene in the Dene came back to me in
all its hideous reality. Vera's lips defiled by those of a murderer!
The thought goaded me to desperation. Springing to my feet again I was
on the point of proclaiming his guilt, when the first question was put
by my counsel.
"Now, Mr Seroff, what are you?"
With bated breath I awaited his answer.
"I am brother-in-law of accused. His wife is my sister."
His sister! Then at least I had no cause for jealousy, and had judged
Vera wrongly.
"Tell us, please, what you know of the circumstances attending the
murder of Mrs Inglewood."
The witness twirled his moustache nervously, and glanced at me; then, as
he saw my eyes fixed upon him, he scowled and turned away.
Yes. I felt convinced it was he. I could see guilt written upon his
face.
"The story is a rather long one, and there are some matters which I
cannot explain; however, I will tell you what occurred on the night in
question. The murdered woman, who, for certain reasons, assumed the
name of Mrs Inglewood, was my wife. She was called Rina Beranger
before I married her, a schoolfellow of my sister's, at Warsaw. After
our marriage it was imperative she should live in England, and for that
reason she left me. I resumed my position, that of an officer of
Cossacks, and for a year we were parted. At last I obtained leave and
travelled from St Petersburg to London. I landed at Hull on the
afternoon of the fifteenth of August, and at once telegraphed to my wife
announcing that I should arrive about midnight."
"Did you sign that telegram?" asked Mr Roland.
"With my initial only."
"Is that the message?" counsel asked, handing up the telegram which had
been put in as evidence against me.
"Yes; it is."
"I would point out, your lordship," observed Mr Roland, "that the
letter B. stands for Boris, as well as Burgoyne, the prisoner."
Continuing, the witness said: "I arrived home soon after twelve at
night, and was admitted by the woman I see sitting in the well of the
Court. Supper was laid in an upstairs room, and my wife, who I thought
appeared unusually nervous, called for it to be served at once. I do
not remember how long we sat together talking; it might have been a
couple of hours for aught I know. My wife was telling me certain
things, which it is unnecessary to repeat here, they being purely
business matters, when suddenly she recollected that she had a letter to
give me. It was downstairs in the drawing-room, she said, and begging
me to remain where I was she left the room, closing the door."
"Was this only a ruse on her part?" asked the judge.
"I'm afraid so. She--she did not return," he continued, with a sign of
emotion. "After she had been absent five or six minutes I heard a
shrill scream, and then a sound like the smashing of glass. At first I
believed that the servant had fallen with a tray, and fully expected my
wife to return and relate the occurrence; but as she did not come I
opened the door and listened. All was silent. The terrible quiet
unmanned me. I called to her, but there was no response, then,
suspecting that some accident had happened, I dashed downstairs and
entered the room--"
"And what did you find?" counsel inquired.
The witness appeared overcome with agitation, which he strove to
repress. But was it only feigned?
"There--I saw my wife--lying on the floor--murdered!"
"How did you act immediately after discovering the crime?"
"I--I fled from the house," he stammered.
"Did you not first ascertain whether the unfortunate woman was really
dead? Did you not call the servant?"
"No. Overcome by sudden fear I left the place, lest I should be
suspected of committing the murder." This statement had a great effect
upon the spectators, and it was some moments before quiet was
sufficiently restored for the interrogatory to proceed. "Did you give
information to the police?"
"No. I left for Paris at ten the same morning."
"Can you say positively that it was not the prisoner who committed the
murder?"
"Yes; I am certain it was not," he replied, drawing a long breath.
I was still convinced he was the murderer. He might, I thought, be
endeavouring to shield himself by giving evidence against some imaginary
person. "Have you any idea who committed the deed?"
"I have--I believe--"
"Stop! Whatever information you can give in a serious charge like this
must be given to the police," exclaimed the judge, interrupting.
"Shall I give the police the name of the person I suspect?" asked the
Russian.
"Yes; at the conclusion of your examination." Counsel for the
prosecution rose and took a deliberate view of the witness, saying:
"Tell me, Mr Seroff, what prompted you to act in the extraordinary
manner you did on discovering the crime?"
"I had no desire to be suspected."
"Would it not have been more natural to have given information at once,
instead of hiding yourself?"
"Possibly it would."
"Then what caused you to keep the matter a secret, and not come forward
until now?" demanded the lawyer, with a shrewd look.
"I had my reasons."
"It is those reasons I desire to know."
"I refuse to state them."
"Then your evidence is very incomplete, and I do not think the jury will
accept it."
"Not if I place the police on the track of the assassin?"
"You forget that by your refusal to state the whole of the facts, and
keeping the matter secret as you have, that you are an accessory, in a
certain degree, to your wife's murder."
"I'm fully aware of it; nevertheless I refuse to give you the reason why
I believed I should be suspected of the crime."
"Very well," said counsel, in a tone of annoyance, resuming his seat.
"I hope the jury will accept your evidence with the utmost caution."
"Have you any more witnesses, Mr Roland?" the judge asked.
"No, m'lord. This concludes the case for the defence."
Boris Seroff descended from the witness-box, and left the Court in
company with an inspector of police and a detective.
A few seconds later they returned, held a hurried conversation with the
clerk of the Court, who in turn whispered something to the judge, which
appeared greatly to surprise him. Then the two officers went out again.
Had my newly-discovered brother-in-law divulged the name of the
murderer?
Those were moments of terrible excitement.