The New Bailey was crowded with a gay and fashionable throng. It was
a remarkable case of shop-lifting. Aurora Delaine, nineteen, was
charged with feloniously stealing and conveying certain articles,
the property of the Universal Stores, to wit thirty-five yards of
bock muslin, ten pairs of gloves, a sponge, two gimlets, five jars
of cold cream, a copy of the Clergy List, three hat-guards, a
mariner's compass, a box of drawing-pins, an egg-breaker, six
blouses, and a cabman's whistle. The theft had been proved by Albert
Jobson, a shopwalker, who gave evidence to the effect that he
followed her through the different departments and saw her take the
things mentioned in the indictment.
"Just a moment," interrupted the Judge. "Who is defending the
prisoner?"
There was an unexpected silence. Rupert Carleton, who had dropped
idly into court, looked round in sudden excitement. The poor girl
had no counsel! What if he--yes, he would seize the chance! He stood
up boldly. "I am, my lord," he said.
Rupert Carleton was still in the twenties, but he had been a
briefless barrister for some years. Yet, though briefs would not
come, he had been very far from idle. He had stood for Parliament in
both the Conservative and Liberal interests (not to mention his
own), he had written half a dozen unproduced plays, and he was
engaged to be married. But success in his own profession had been
delayed. Now at last was his opportunity.
He pulled his wig down firmly over his ears, took out a pair of
pince-nez and rose to cross-examine. It was the cross-examination
which was to make him famous, the cross-examination which is now
given as a model in every legal text-book.
"Mr Jobson," he began suavely, "you say that you saw the accused
steal these various articles, and that they were afterwards found
upon her?"
"Yes."
"I put it to you," said Rupert, and waited intently for the answer,
"that that is a pure invention on your part?"
"No."
With a superhuman effort Rupert hid his disappointment. Unexpected
as the answer was, he preserved his impassivity.
"I suggest," he tried again, "that you followed her about and
concealed this collection of things in her cloak with a view to
advertising your winter sale?"
"No. I saw her steal them."
Rupert frowned; the man seemed impervious to the simplest
suggestion. With masterly decision he tapped his pince-nez and fell
back upon his third line of defence. "You saw her steal them? What
you mean is that you saw her take them from the different counters
and put them in her bag?"
"Yes."
"With the intention of paying for them in the ordinary way?"
"No."
"Please be very careful. You said in your evidence that the
prisoner, when told she would be charged, cried, 'To think that I
should have come to this! Will no one save me?' I suggest that she
went up to you with her collection of purchases, pulled out her
purse, and said, 'What does all this come to? I can't get any one to
serve me.'"
"No."
The obstinacy of some people! Rupert put back his pince-nez in his
pocket and brought out another pair. The historic cross-examination
continued.
"We will let that pass for the moment," he said. He consulted a
sheet of paper and then looked sternly at Mr Jobson. "Mr Jobson, how
many times have you been married?"
"Once."
"Quite so." He hesitated and then decided to risk it. "I suggest
that your wife left you?"
"Yes."
It was a long shot, but once again the bold course had paid. Rupert
heaved a sigh of relief.
"Will you tell the gentlemen of the jury," he said with deadly
politeness, "WHY she left you?"
"She died."
A lesser man might have been embarrassed, but Rupert's iron nerve
did not fail him.
"Exactly!" he said. "And was that or was that not on the night when
you were turned out of the Hampstead Parliament for intoxication?"
"I never was."
"Indeed? Will you cast your mind back to the night of April 24th,
1897? What were you doing on that night?"
"I have no idea," said Jobson, after casting his mind back and
waiting in vain for some result.
"In that case you cannot swear that you were not being turned out of
the Hampstead Parliament--"
"But I never belonged to it."
Rupert leaped at the damaging admission.
"What? You told the Court that you lived at Hampstead, and yet you
say that you never belonged to the Hampstead Parliament? Is THAT
your idea of patriotism?"
"I said I lived at Hackney."
"To the Hackney Parliament, I should say. I am suggesting that you
were turned out of the Hackney Parliament for--"
"I don't belong to that either."
"Exactly!" said Rupert triumphantly. "Having been turned out for
intoxication?"
"And never did belong."
"Indeed? May I take it then that you prefer to spend your evenings
in the public-house?"
"If you want to know," said Jobson angrily, "I belong to the Hackney
Chess Circle, and that takes up most of my evenings."
Rupert gave a sigh of satisfaction and turned to the jury.
"At LAST, gentlemen, we have got it. I thought we should arrive at
the truth in the end, in spite of Mr Jobson's prevarications." He
turned to the witness. "Now, sir," he said sternly, "you have
already told the Court that you have no idea what you were doing on
the night of April 24th, 1897. I put it to you once more that this
blankness of memory is due to the fact that you were in a state of
intoxication on the premises of the Hackney Chess Circle. Can you
swear on your oath that this is not so?"
A murmur of admiration for the relentless way in which the truth had
been tracked down ran through the court. Rupert drew himself up and
put on both pairs of pince-nez at once.
"Come, sir!" he said, "the jury is waiting." But it was not Albert
Jobson who answered. It was the counsel for the prosecution. "My
lord," he said, getting up slowly, "this has come as a complete
surprise to me. In the circumstances, I must advise my clients to
withdraw from the case."
"A very proper decision," said his lordship. "The prisoner is
discharged without a stain on her character."
. . . . . . .
Briefs poured in upon Rupert next day, and he was engaged for all
the big Chancery cases. Within a week his six plays were accepted,
and within a fortnight he had entered Parliament as the miners'
Member for Coalville. His marriage took place at the end of a month.
The wedding presents were even more numerous and costly than usual,
and included thirty-five yards of book muslin, ten pairs of gloves,
a sponge, two gimlets, five jars of cold cream, a copy of the Clergy
List, three hat-guards, a mariner's compass, a box of drawing-pins,
an egg-breaker, six blouses, and a cabman's whistle. They were
marked quite simply, "From a Grateful Friend."