THE TRIAL.
The winter assizes at Dulminster were held early in December, so that
John Brancker had not many weeks to lie in prison before being called
upon to stand his trial for the murder of James Hazeldine. The grand
jury found a true bill against the prisoner, and one crisp, sunny
morning, John found himself in a sort of a pen in the centre of a
densely crowded court, the one object on which several hundred pairs
of curious eyes, some of them helped by opera-glasses, were focused.
He was pale, but quite composed, and when called upon in the usual
form to plead to the indictment, his low but emphatic "Not guilty" was
clearly audible to everyone there.
His sister and his niece had been permitted to have an interview with
him on the eve of the trial, and he had contrived to infuse into them
some of the courage which he felt, or professed to feel, as to the
morrow's result. They were staying with some friends in Close Street,
and Clement Hazeldine, who had given his patients into the charge of a
brother practitioner for a couple of days, had arranged to send them
frequent messages from the Court during the progress of the trial. The
prisoner's defence had been entrusted to the hands of the well-known
Mr. Burgees, with whom was Mr. Timperly as junior. Mr. Mulgrave had
been specially retained as counsel for the Crown.
It was none other than the murdered man's eldest son who had retained
Mr. Burgees to defend the prisoner. This was a point which had been
much commented upon by the good people of Ashdown, and one that had
told strongly with them in John Brancker's favor. If a clear,
hard-headed man of the world like Edward Hazeldine had such faith in
his innocence, how would it be possible for any jury to bring him in
guilty? Then again, was it not a well-known fact that the younger son,
Clement, was a frequent visitor at Mr. Brancker's house, and among
such of the wiseacres as made it their business to pry into every
little matter in any way connected with the affair, there were not
wanting whispers of an engagement between the young doctor and the
accused man's niece. No, John Brancker must be an innocent man, they
decided among themselves; and yet, on the face of it, the evidence
against him seemed terribly conclusive, nor, so far as was known, had
anything likely to shake it been brought to light since the date of
the prisoner's committal. Strenuous efforts had been made to find the
man and woman whom John stated that he had encountered, quarrelling
fiercely, while on his way back from Strong's cottage, and one of
whom, the woman, had flung a stone at him, which had contused his
forehead. But nowhere could any traces of them be found, neither had
the offer of a reward, if they would come forward and give evidence,
been productive of any result.
On the morning of the trial Edward Hazeldine drove over to Dulminster
in his dog-cart, and put up his horse at the "Eagle" Hotel, which is
exactly opposite the Court-house. His intention had been to find a
seat near the counsel for the defence, but he abandoned the idea at
the last moment. Happening to look at himself in the glass he started
at the sight of his haggard visage, and this morning his hands
trembled so much that not for a hundred pounds could he have signed
his own name. He felt that he could not face the ordeal of the Court,
that he could not bear the scrutiny of the crowd of coldly-curious
eyes which would focus themselves on him as being the eldest son of
the murdered man. He hired a private room on the first floor
overlooking the entrance to the Court, and arranged for a messenger to
bring him half-hourly tidings of the progress of the trial; and there
he sat throughout the day, with a decanter of brandy at his elbow, he
who, under ordinary circumstances, was one of the most abstemious of
men. He had his father's letter buttoned up in the breast-pocket of
his coat. It was not expected that the trial would extend over more
than one day, and he had arranged that the moment the jury brought in
their verdict its purport should be made known to him. Then, if the
fatal word "Guilty" were pronounced, he would at once rush across to
the Court, and before the Judge would have had time to assume the
black cap, he would proclaim to the world the innocence of the man at
the bar. His fevered imagination rehearsed the scene again and again,
always with some fresh features or added details, but always he seemed
to see the horror that would creep into the eyes of that vast crowd as
he told his tale word by word, and proclaimed himself for the vile
coward that he was.
There was one other person, Ephraim Judd, to wit, who had also made up
his mind that, should the prisoner at the bar be adjudged guilty, he
must at once crave leave to speak, and to tell all present certain
things which were known to himself alone, but which would go far
towards proving the innocence of John Brancker. He must relate how he
saw the prisoner leave the Bank, when the latter went to fetch his
umbrella, within five minutes of the time he entered it. He must
explain all about the blood-smears in the prisoner's drawer, and the
marks on the floor. He must confess to what he saw when he looked
through the fan-light over Mr. Hazeldine's office door. He was fully
alive to the fact that to do this would be to effect his own ruin, he
was quite aware that he ought to have told all he knew at the first
examination before the Coroner; at that time he had been deterred from
speaking by a fear of the consequences which would accrue to himself,
but should the worst come to the worst, no such fear should hold him
back to-day. Be the consequences to himself what they might, John
Brancker must not be condemned to die, until he, Ephraim Judd, had
told all that which he had till now so carefully hidden. It was in no
enviable frame of mind that he walked down to the court on the morning
of the trial.
It is not needful that any detailed account should be given here of
the progress of the trial. The evidence of the various witnesses was
little more than a recapitulation of that given by them at the
inquest. No fresh facts had come to light in the interim, neither did
the cross-examination of the witnesses tend to elicit any further
point which told materially either for or against the prisoner. As
before, Brill, the man from whom the knife had been purchased by which
Mr. Hazeldine had come by his death, would neither swear positively
that the prisoner was the man to whom he had sold the weapon, nor that
he was not. He, the prisoner, was like the man, and yet he wasn't like
the man; he couldn't be positive, and he wouldn't take an oath one way
or the other.
William Strong, the organ-blower, was still as positive as ever that
he had not left home on the night of the murder, and that if the
prisoner had knocked at the door of his cottage he could not have
failed to hear him.
Ephraim Judd, Obed and Amanda Sweet, Doctor Barton and Mr. Mace,
were each called upon in turn, and were each submitted to a
cross-examination more or less severe, which, however, in no case
brought to light anything of consequence tending to the exculpation of
the prisoner.
Last of all, two people who had not been examined at the inquest were
called and sworn. The first of them was a clerk from the Bank of
England, who deposed to having changed notes for gold to the amount of
twelve hundred pounds on the day of the murder, and who, on being
shown a photograph of Mr. Hazeldine, recognized it as a likeness of
the person for whom he had effected the exchange in question.
The second person who was called upon was Mr. Avison. He had no
positive evidence to offer in the case, beyond the fact that the Bank
had been robbed of an amount a little in excess of four thousand
pounds; but what the Counsel for the Prosecution was desirous of
eliciting from him was his opinion as to whether such a crime,
considered in all its bearings, could have been perpetrated by anyone
who was not well acquainted with the habits of the murdered man, as
well as with the working of the inner machinery of the Bank. Mr.
Avison was clearly of opinion that the crime was the result of a
carefully arranged plan, the inception, if not the carrying out, of
which was due to someone who had an intimate knowledge of certain
details, such as it was next to impossible for any outsider to have.
The examination of Mr. Avison brought the evidence to an end. Then a
number of witnesses were called to testify to the accused man's
character, among the rest being Mr. Avison. This might have gone on
for an indefinite time if the Judge had not at length expressed
himself as being perfectly satisfied that it was impossible for any
man's character to stand higher in the estimation of those who had
known him intimately for years than that of the prisoner at the bar.
Then, after the counsel on both sides had been heard, his Lordship
proceeded to charge the jury.
This he did in a dispassionate and unbiassed manner, reviewing the
evidence carefully, weighing each item in the judicial scales, and
giving to each its just preponderance as it told for or against the
prisoner. He was most careful in pointing out that the evidence was
entirely of a circumstantial character. On the one hand, there was the
certainty that the crime was committed some time between half-past ten
o'clock and half-past eleven, and the fact that the prisoner entered
the Bank by means of his pass-key about twenty minutes past ten and
did not reach home till close upon midnight; and that the account he
gave of having walked all the way to Strong's house during that
interval of time, and of having knocked at his door, was, so far as
regarded the latter part of the prisoner's assertion, emphatically
denied by Strong himself.
Then there were the blood-smears in his private drawer at the office
and on the floor, close by, for which he professed himself utterly
unable to account. Then again, the facts of the case would seem
clearly to indicate that the criminal was thoroughly acquainted both
with the murdered man's habits as also with the interior economy of
the Bank--that he knew where to look for the key of the strong-room,
and on which day of the week the largest amount of gold was to be
found there. He, the Judge, advised the jury not to attach too much
importance to the evidence of Brill, the man who sold the knife. His
experience had led him to the conclusion that it was impossible to be
too cautious in accepting evidence as to personal identity, more
especially after any considerable lapse of time; and Brill had very
rightly declined to swear to a point as to which his memory was
evidently at fault.
There were several points in the prisoner's favor, his Lordship went
on to remark, to which the jury would not fail to give due weight in
their deliberations. In the first place, there was the entire absence
of any conceivable motive on the prisoner's part tending to the
commission of such a crime. He and the murdered man had been friends
and fellow-workers for years, and, as far as was known, they had
always been on the best of terms towards each other. Further, none of
the stolen property had been traced home to the prisoner; although, of
course, it was no very difficult matter to hide away a large sum in
notes and gold where it would be next to impossible for anyone to find
it. Finally, the testimony they had heard given to the very high
character borne by the prisoner, was a point which would doubtless
receive due consideration at their hands.
It was five o'clock when the jury quitted the court, and it wanted
twenty minutes to seven when they returned. As soon as Miss Brancker
and Hermia heard that the jury had retired to consider their verdict,
they left the house in Close Street, where they had been staying, and
accompanied by Clement Hazeldine, made their way to the Court-house
where, through Clem's influence, they were accommodated with seats in
a private room. As the slow minutes passed without bringing any news,
the strain upon them grew almost too intense to be endured.
Clement was utterly perplexed by the non-appearance of his brother.
From hour to hour he looked for him, but in vain. Surely, Edward would
have let nothing less than illness keep him away! Clem had felt very
grateful to him for his outspoken championship of John Brancker,
although, perhaps, knowing as he did something of the hardness of his
brother's character, he had been a little surprised at the attitude
taken up by him from the first day of the inquiry. Somehow, it
scarcely seemed to harmonize with the idea of Edward, which had
unconsciously formulated itself in his mind; but that, as he told
himself, only served to prove what erroneous views one may form even
of those who are closest to us, and whom we flatter ourselves we know
and understand best.
His Lordship, the jury, and the prisoner being all back in their
places, and silence having been proclaimed in Court, the Foreman of
the Jury, in reply to the usual question put by the Clerk of Arraigns,
said, in a voice which every ear there was strained to catch:
"We find the prisoner at the bar 'Not guilty.'"
A murmur that seemed half a sigh at first ran through the crowd, and
then swiftly rose and swelled into a great cheer, such as the rafters
of the old Court-house had rarely, if ever, echoed before.
Three minutes later his sister's arms were round John Brancker's neck,
while Edward Hazeldine's messenger was speeding to him with the good
news.
John stayed in a private room until the Court had emptied and the
crowd dispersed. He was particularly anxious to reach home with as
little observation as possible, so it was arranged that he and his
sister and Hermia, with Clement Hazeldine by way of escort, should be
driven to Ashdown in a fly, instead of returning by train.
Accordingly, a fly was brought, and John Brancker stepped out into the
open air a free man. For a few moments the sensation was overpowering;
a mental vertigo possessed him; but Clem's strong arm was within his,
supporting him, and presently the feeling passed. They were all in the
fly, a constable had shut the door, and the driver was on the point of
starting, when a figure sprang out of the darkness into the circle of
light radiated by the lamp over the Court-house door, and pushing his
way through the little crowd of officials, laid a detaining hand on
the vehicle. The lamplight brought into relief a haggard,
sinister-looking face and two furtive, red-rimmed eyes.
"Mr. Brancker, sir," said the fellow, speaking in hoarse, drink-sodden
tones, "if such a wretch as I may be allowed to thank heaven for
anything, then I thank it that you are once more a free man. You don't
remember me, perhaps? I am Richard Varell, your old clerk. Ah, you
recollect me now. Changed, ain't I? But no matter about that. From the
first I swore that whoever else might be guilty of Mr. Hazeldine's
death, you at least were innocent. As for him--curse him!--he hounded
me to my ruin, and he deserved his fate. For him no pity is needed.
But as for you, sir, I say again, thank heaven you are free!" He threw
up one arm as though it were a signal of farewell, and falling back,
was lost next moment in the darkness.
That night Edward Hazeldine slept a deep, dreamless sleep for the
first time since his father's death.