THE VERDICT.
One important piece of evidence bearing on the murder of Mr.
Hazeldine, and one only, had been ferreted out by the police in the
course of the week which preceded the adjourned inquest. They had
discovered the man who sold the weapon with which the crime had
presumably been perpetrated. The point that still remained to be
cleared up was the identification of the purchaser of the knife.
As before, the jury assembled in a room of the "White Lion Hotel."
For the sake of appearances, Edward Hazeldine had been obliged to
retain the services of Mr. Prestwich, who was supposed to be there
with the view of looking after the interests of the family of the
deceased. Mr. Avison occupied a seat in the reserved space, and all
the witnesses who had been called and sworn on the previous occasion
were again in attendance.
The depositions having been read over, Dr. Barton was called, and
deposed that, in conjunction with his colleague, Dr. Stone, he had
made a post-mortem examination of the body of deceased, and that they
found the cause of death to be puncture of the tissues of the heart
with the point of some sharp instrument.
The weapon produced exactly fitted the cavity of the wound, and
bearing in mind the fact that it was found close by the body, there
was little room for doubt that it was the instrument with which the
fatal blow had been inflicted.
The evidence of Dr. Stone was to the same effect as that of the
previous witness.
Patience Strong, wife of William Strong, deposed that, to the best of
her belief, her husband never left home on the night of the supposed
murder. He had been ill for two or three days previously, and on the
evening in question she left him about nine o'clock, sitting in his
slippers by the fire, when she went out to see a neighbor who had a
sick child, and she found him still sitting in his slippers by the
fire when she got home at five minutes before twelve.
After speaking in a low voice to Chief Constable Mace for a few
moments, the Coroner called upon Walter Brill to come forward. In
response to the summons a dark, quick-eyed, nervous little man,
evidently dressed in his Sunday best, pressed his way through the
crowd, and was sworn in the usual way. He deposed that he resided at
No. 29 Winton Street, London, and that a few days ago he received,
through the police, the photograph of a knife, produced, with a
printed request that if he remembered having sold such a weapon he
would at once communicate with the authorities. As he at once
recognized the photograph's being very like that of a knife sold by
him about two months before, he did as he was requested, and was
waited upon by Mr. Mace and another gentleman, with the result that he
was before the Coroner to-day to give evidence.
The knife now put into his hands was sold by him on a certain day in
August last. He knew it by a private mark, which he put on all goods
out of the common way sold by him. Had no means of telling the exact
date when he sold the knife, but knew it was in August, because his
little girl, who had just recovered from the measles, was running
about the shop at the time. The knife was called an "American knife,"
but was in reality of Sheffield manufacture. It was made of the best
steel, had one blade six inches in length, and opened with a spring.
The purchaser of it was a gentleman about fifty years old, who carried
a small black leather bag, of which he seemed to take especial care.
Being pressed to describe more particularly the appearance of the
gentleman, witness said that, to the best of his recollection, he wore
a black tail-coat and waistcoat, and a high, old-fashioned collar. He
had no beard and not much whisker, and was very "respectable-looking."
Being asked to look round the room, and see whether anyone among those
present bore any resemblance to the person who bought the knife,
witness rubbed his hands nervously together, and then turned and
fronted the sixty or seventy faces grouped at the other end of the
room.
By the time witness had reached this point the eyes of every spectator
and juryman had shifted from his face to the face of John Brancker.
Mr. Avison and John were sitting on one side of the room between the
crowd of ordinary onlookers and the Coroner, and facing the jury.
As Walter Brill went on to describe the appearance of the man who
bought the knife, John felt his color change in spite of himself. He
was a shy, nervous man at the best of times, and totally unfitted to
go through such an ordeal as the present one. He could feel, rather
than see, that the eyes of all present were bent upon him. He turned
first red and then white, and his lower lip began to quiver, as it had
a trick of doing in moments of excitement or agitation. Mr. Mace
favored his colleague from Scotland Yard with a nod that was
perceptible to him alone. Almost unconsciously Mr. Avison moved his
chair a few inches further away. John noticed the action, and his
heart swelled within him.
The cause of all this was the strangely accurate description given by
Brill of the man who had purchased the knife. John Brancker was
verging towards middle-age. He went to London three or four times a
month, on which occasions he took with him a small black leather bag.
A black tail-coat and a high stiff collar formed part of his customary
attire. He was clean-shaven, except for two short side-whiskers which
began to show signs of grey; while no one could dispute the fact that
he was a very staid and respectable-looking man.
The eyes of Brill roved with a sort of vague inquisitiveness from face
to face, but no light of recognition came into them. He shook his head
slowly and turned to the Coroner.
"Take your time; don't be in too great a hurry," said the latter; so
Brill turned to look again.
It needs but that two or three people should stare intently at some
one object for the eyes of all there to be drawn in the same
direction. So it was in the present case. Brill awoke to the fact that
the spectators were not looking so much at him as at someone behind
him. He turned, letting his eyes follow the direction of theirs, and
confronted John Brancker.
The two men looked at each other. For the first few moments it seemed
to Brill that he was gazing into the face of a man whom he had never
seen before, but as his eyes took in one by one the different items of
John's attire, and then wandered back to his smooth-shaven chin and
pointed collars, and when he became conscious that everyone in the
room was waiting with a sort of breathless anxiety to see whether he
would recognize the man before him, then he began to fancy that the
face he was looking at was not altogether strange to him, and that he
must have seen it before. In such a case fancy goes a long way on the
road to certainty. But Brill felt the responsibility of his position,
and was nervously anxious not to make a mistake.
"Well," said the Coroner, after a pause, during which, as the saying
goes, a pin might have been heard to drop, "are you satisfied that the
person to whom you sold the knife is nowhere among those present?"
Brill drew a long breath, glanced furtively round the room again, and
then said in a low voice:
"There is one gentleman here that seems something like the party who
called at my shop in August."
"Be good enough to point out the person to whom you refer."
"That is the gentleman," said the witness, turning and indicating John
Brancker with his finger. A low murmur, like an inarticulate sigh, ran
through the room, and then the silence became more intense than
before.
"Are you prepared to swear that is the gentlemen to whom you sold the
knife you have seen here to-day?"
"No, I am not prepared to swear to anything of the kind."
"To the best of your belief is he the person to whom you sold the
knife?"
"No, I won't go even as far as that," answered Brill, dogmatically.
"All I can say is that there is a strong likeness between him and the
party who came to my shop; but, for all that, I'm not going to swear
that it was him." Nor from that point could anything move him.
John Brancker rose to his feet.
"Don't say anything now," whispered Mr. Avison.
"I must, sir--I must," answered John, with a passionate ring in his
voice. Then turning to the Coroner, he said:
"Sir, as I stand here, a living man, I swear that I never saw or spoke
to this person before to-day, that I was never inside his shop in my
life, and that I never purchased a knife like the one in question
either of him or of anyone else." Having said these few words, John
resumed his seat.
"Have you any questions to ask the last witness?" asked the Coroner of
Mr. Prestwich. He had listened with polite attention to John, but had
made no comment.
Mr. Prestwich shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Only two
minutes before he had whispered to Edward Hazeldine, who was seated in
the next chair, "The evidence this week seems tending in the same
direction as that of last week."
"I don't care for that--John Brancker is an innocent man," was the
emphatic reply.
"In any case," said Mr. Prestwich, "I should like to put a few
questions to the man Brill."
"I beg you will do nothing of the kind, at least not now," was all he
got in answer.
After that Mr. Prestwich could say no more. To him Edward Hazeldine's
pig-headedness, as he termed it in his own mind, was altogether
inexplicable.
But more inexplicable was it to Edward that in the description given
by Brill of the man who had bought the knife no one should have
recognized the portrait of Mr. Hazeldine. He had recognized it in a
moment, but all the others, having had their minds imbued with the
idea that the description must of necessity apply to John Brancker,
had failed to discover the other likeness--all except Ephraim Judd.
Brill's account had given him a clue to something which had hitherto
puzzled him not a little. "Now, I can guess it all," he muttered under
his breath. "I wonder whether anyone suspects besides myself."
Henceforward for him the tragedy had a double meaning.
Both Mr. Hazeldine and John Brancker belonged to the staid,
old-fashioned school of bank officials. They were sober in their ways
and sober in their attire. There was no great dissimilarity in their
ages, and in the course of years John, without being consciously aware
of it, had got into the way of copying his superior officer both in
manner and dress: so that, under the circumstances, the mistake made
not only by Brill, but by those who knew both the men, was hardly to
be wondered at, however unfortunate it might prove to be for one of
them.
There being no further evidence forthcoming, the Coroner proceeded to
sum up the case. It was not his fault that nearly all the evidence
seemed to point to one conclusion. He stated the facts as he found
them, and strove in no way to bias the minds of the jury.
The jury retired at twenty minutes past five and were away forty
minutes. Much eager whispered conversation went on during their
absence, but no one attempted to leave the room. Everyone felt the
intensity of the strain. John Brancker sat perfectly still, staring
into vacancy, with his hands crossed over the knob of his umbrella.
Edward Hazeldine sat like a man in a stupor, heedless of all that was
going on around him. Mr. Prestwich took snuff and conversed with the
Coroner in undertones. There was a momentary rustle, and then a dead
silence fell upon the room as the jury filed back to their seats, and
returned a verdict of wilful murder against John Brancker.
A ghastly pallor overspread John's face as the words fell upon his
ears. They surely could not be meant to apply to him! His lips formed
themselves to speak, but no sound came from them. Oh! to think--to
think that anyone could for a moment believe his was the hand which
had struck so foul a blow! Then he bowed his head and waited, while
two or three scalding tears dropped unseen on his crossed hands.
Edward Hazeldine strode across the room and grasped John by the hand.
"Mr. Brancker," he said, "I am profoundly grieved at what has happened
here to-day. From the bottom of my heart I believe you to be an
innocent man. This verdict seems to me a most monstrous one--one which
will never be sustained by that higher tribunal to which your case
will now be relegated. Believe me, I would stake my life on your
innocence."
John grasped the hand that lay in his. His momentary burst of emotion
had relieved his overcharged feelings. His courage was coming back to
him. "Thank you, sincerely, Mr. Edward, for your kind words," he said
as he stood up. "They have taken a great weight off my heart. The
world can hardly believe me guilty when it knows that you have faith
in my innocence."
At this moment Clement Hazeldine came pushing his way through the
crowd. He had been unable to get there before. He was inexpressibly
shocked at the news which had just been told him. He, too, grasped
John by the hand, and assured him in warm terms of his thorough
confidence in his innocence.
"Now I can face whatever has yet to come," said John, with the ghost
of a smile on his quivering lips. "But who is to break the news to my
sister, and--and to Hermia?"
"I will do that, if you will allow me," answered Clement, gently.
"Do--do. Poor Lotty! Poor Hermy!" He turned away; it was all he could
do to keep from breaking down again.
Other friends crowded round him with sympathetic looks and cheering
words. Mr. Avison had slipped quietly away without speaking to anyone.
The committal warrant, duly signed by the Coroner, was ready by this
time. The Chief Constable touched his prisoner on the shoulder, and
John followed him to the fly which was waiting to convey him to the
gaol, a mile or more away, at the other end of the town. A last hearty
hand-shake with several friends, and then the two men got inside, and
were driven off. One by one the crowd congregated round the door of
the "White Lion" melted away.
Next forenoon John was brought up before the loca Bench of
magistrates, when the whole dreary business of the evidence against
him was minutely sifted and gone through afresh, and after a couple of
adjournments, John was committed to take his trial on the capital
charge at the forthcoming winter assizes, held at Dulminster, the
county town eight miles from Ashdown.