THE EXAMINATION
The morning sun shone upon the crowded court, as the Bench waited for
the appearance of Mr. Jim Sanders. The windows, large, high, and
guiltless of blinds, faced the south-east, and the warm autumn rays
poured in, to the discomfort of those on whom they directly fell. They
fell especially on the prisoner; his fair hair, his winning countenance.
They fell on the haughty features of Miss Diana Trevlyn, leaning forward
to speak to Mr. Peterby, who had been summoned in haste by herself, that
he might watch the interests of Rupert. They fell on the sad face of
Mrs. Chattaway, bent downwards until partly hidden under its falling
curls; and they fell on the red face of Farmer Apperley, who was in a
brown study, gently flicking his top-boot with his riding-whip.
One, who had come pressing through the crowd, extended her hand, and
touched the farmer on the shoulder. He turned to behold Nora Dickson.
"Mr. Apperley, did your wife make those inquiries for me about that
work-woman at the upholsterer's, whether she goes out by the day or
not?" asked Nora, as though speaking for the benefit of the court in
general.
Mr. Apperley paused to collect his thoughts upon the subject. "I _did_
hear the missis say something about that woman," he remarked at length.
"I can't call to mind what, though. Brown, isn't her name?"
"We must have her, or somebody else," continued Nora, in the same tones.
"Our drawing-room winter-curtains must be turned top for bottom; and as
to the moreen bed-furniture----"
"Silence there!" interrupted an authoritative voice. And then there came
again the same call which had already been echoed through the court
twice before--
"James Sanders!"
"Just step here to the back, and I'll send your wife a message for the
woman," resumed Nora, in defiance of the mandate just issued.
The farmer did not see why the message could not have been given to him
where he was; but we are all apt to yield to a ruling power, and he
followed Nora.
She struggled through the crowded doorway of the court into a
comparatively empty stone hall. The farmer contrived to follow her; but
he was short and stout, and emerged purple with the exertion. Nora cast
her cautious eyes around, and then bent towards him with the softest
whisper.
"Look here, Mr. Apperley. If they examine _you_, you have no need to
tell everything, you know."
Mr. Apperley, none of the keenest at taking a hint, stared at Nora. He
could not understand. "Are you talking about the upholstering woman?"
asked he, in his perplexity.
"Rubbish!" retorted Nora. "Do you suppose I brought you here to talk
about her? You have not a bit of gumption--as everybody knows. Jim
Sanders is not to be found; at least, it seems so," continued Nora, with
a short cough; "for that's the third time they have called him. Now, if
they examine you--as I suppose they will, by Bowen saying you might be
wanted, there's no need to go and repeat what Jim said about Rupert
Trevlyn's guilt when you met him last night down by his cottage."
"Why! how did you know I met Jim last night?" cried the farmer, staring
at Nora.
"There's no time to explain now: I didn't dream it. You liked Joe
Trevlyn: I have heard you say it."
"Ay, I did," replied the farmer, casting his thoughts back.
"Well, then, just bring to your mind how that poor lad, his son, has
been wronged and put upon through life; think of the critical position
he stands in now; before a hundred eyes--brought to it through that
usurper, Chattaway. Don't _you_ help on the hue and cry against him, I
say. You didn't see him fire the rick; you only heard Jim Sanders say
that he fired it; and you are not called upon to repeat that hearsay
evidence. _Don't do it_, Mr. Apperley."
"I suppose I am not," assented he, after digesting the words.
"Indeed you are not. If Jim can't be found, and you don't speak, I think
it's not much of a case they'll make out against him. After all, Jim
_may_ have done it himself, you know."
She turned away, leaving the farmer to follow her, and he, slow at
coming to conclusions, stopped where he was, pondering all sides of the
question in his mind.
But there's a word to say about Policeman Dumps. Nothing could exceed
the consternation experienced by that functionary at the non-appearance
of Jim Sanders. On their arrival at Barmester, they had searched for him
in vain. Dumps would not believe that he had been purposely deceived,
although the stern eyes of his superior were bent on him with a very
significant look. "Get the fleetest conveyance you can, and be off to
Barbrook and see about it," were the whispered commands of the latter.
"A pretty go, this is! I shall have the Bench blowing me up in public!"
The Bench, vexed at the fruitless calls for Jim Sanders, looked much
inclined to blow some one up. They were better off in regard to the sun
than their audience, since they had their backs to it. The chairman, who
sat in the middle, was a Mr. Pollard, a kindly, but hasty and
opinionated man. He ordered the case to proceed, while the principal
witness, Jim Sanders, was being looked for.
Mr. Flood, the lawyer from Barmester, acting for Mr. Chattaway, stated
the case shortly and concisely. And the first witness called upon was
Mr. Chattaway, who descended from the bench to give his evidence.
He was obliged to confess to his shame. He stood there before the
condemning faces around, and acknowledged that the chastisement spoken
to was a fact--that he _had_ laid his horsewhip on the shoulders of
Rupert Trevlyn. He was pressed for the why and wherefore--Chattaway was
no favourite with his brother-magistrates, and they did not show him any
remarkable favour--and he had further to confess that the provocation
was totally inadequate to the punishment.
"State your grounds for charging your nephew, Rupert Trevlyn, with the
crime," said the Bench.
"There is not the slightest doubt that he did it in a fit of passion,"
said Mr. Chattaway. "There was no one but him in the rick-yard, so far
as I saw, and he had a lighted torch in his hand. This torch he dropped
for a moment, but I suppose picked it up again."
"It is said that James Sanders was also in the rick-yard; and the torch
was his."
"I did not see James Sanders. I saw only Rupert Trevlyn, and he had the
torch in his hand when I went up. Not many minutes after I quitted the
rick-yard the flames broke out."
Apparently this was all Mr. Chattaway knew of the actual facts. The man
Hatch was called, and testified to the fact that Jim Sanders was in the
rick-yard. Bridget, the kitchenmaid, in a state of much tremor,
confirmed this, and confessed she was there subsequently with Jim, that
he had a torch, and they saw the flames break out. She related her story
pretty circumstantially, winding up with the statement that Jim told her
Mr. Rupert had set it on fire.
"Stop a bit, lass," interrupted Mr. Peterby. "You have just stated to
their worships that Jim Sanders flew off the moment he saw the flames
burst forth, never stopping to speak a word. _Now_ you say he told you
it was Mr. Rupert who fired it. How do you reconcile the contradiction?"
"He had told me first, sir," answered the girl. "He said he saw the
master horsewhip Mr. Rupert, and Mr. Rupert in his passion caught up the
torch which had fell, thrust it into the rick, and then leaped over the
palings and got away. Jim pulled the torch out of the rick, and all the
hay that had caught, as he thought; he told me all this when he was
showing me the puppy. I suppose a spark must have been left in to
smoulder, unknown to him."
"Now don't you think that you and he and the torch and the puppy,
between you, managed to get the spark there, instead of its having
'smouldered,' eh, girl?" sarcastically asked Mr. Peterby.
Bridget burst into tears. "No, I am sure we did not," she answered.
"Don't you likewise think that this pretty little bit of news regarding
Mr. Rupert may have been a fable of Mr. Jim's invention, to excuse his
own carelessness?" went on the lawyer.
"I am certain it was not, sir," she sobbed. "When Jim told me about Mr.
Rupert, he never thought the rick was on fire."
They could not get on at all without Jim Sanders. Mr. Peterby's
insinuations were pointed; nay, more; for he boldly asserted that the
rick was far more likely to have been fired by Jim than Rupert--that is,
by a spark from that gentleman's torch, whilst engaged with two objects
so exacting as a puppy and Bridget. Jim himself could alone clear up the
knotty question, and the Court gave vent to its impatience, and wished
they were at the heels of Policeman Dumps who had gone in search of him.
But the heels of Policeman Dumps could not by any means have flown more
quickly over the ground, had the whole court been after him in full cry.
In point of fact, they were not his own heels that were at work, but
those of a fleet little horse, drawing the light gig in which the
policeman sat. So effectually did he whip up this horse, that in
considerably less time than half-an-hour, Mr. Dumps was nearing Jim's
dwelling. As he passed the police-station at Barbrook, the only solitary
policeman left to take care of the interests of the district was
fulfilling his duty by taking a lounge against the door-post.
"Have you seen anything of Jim Sanders?" called out Mr. Dumps, partially
checking his horse. "He has never made his appearance yonder, and I'm
come after him."
"I hear he's off," answered the man.
"Off! Off where?"
"Cut away," was the explanatory reply. "He hasn't been seen since last
night."
Allowing himself a whole minute to take in the news, Mr. Dumps whipped
on his horse, and gave utterance to a very unparliamentary word. When he
burst into Mrs. Sanders's cottage, which was full of steam, and she
before a washing-tub, he seized that lady's arm in so emphatic a manner
that perceiving what was coming, she gave a scream, and very nearly
plunged her head into the soap-suds.
Mr. Dumps ungallantly shook her. "Now, you just answer me," cried he;
"and if you speak a word of a lie this time you'll get transported, or
something as bad. What made you tell me last night Jim had come home and
was in bed? Where is he?"
She supposed he knew all--all the wickedness of her conduct in screening
him; and it had the effect of hardening her. She was, as it were, at
bay; and deceit was no longer possible.
"If you did transport me I couldn't tell where he is. I don't know. I
never set eyes on him all the blessed night, and that's the naked truth.
Let me go, Mr. Dumps: it's no good choking me."
Mr. Dumps looked ready to choke himself. He had been deceived, and
turned aside from the execution of his duty, his brother constables
would have the laugh against him, Bowen would blow up, the Bench at
Barmester was waiting, Jim was off--and that wretched woman had done it
all! Mr. Dumps ground his teeth in impotent rage.
"I'll have you punished as sure as my name's what it is, Madge Sanders,
if you don't tell me the truth," he foamed. "Is Jim in this here house?"
"You be welcome to search the house," she replied, throwing open the
staircase door, which led to the loft. "I'm telling nothing but truth
now, though I was frighted into doing summit else last night; frighted
to death a'most, and so I was this morning when I said he'd gone on to
Barmester."
Mr. Dumps felt inclined to shake her again: we are sure to be more angry
with others when we have ourselves to blame; how could he have been fool
enough to place such blind confidence in Farmer Apperley? One thing
forced itself on his conviction; the woman was stating nothing but fact
now.
"You persist in it to my face that you don't know where Jim is?" he
cried.
"I swear I don't. There! I swear I have never set eyes on him since last
night when he came home after work, and went out to take his black puppy
to Trevlyn Hold. He never came in after that."
"You just dry those soap-suddy arms of yours, put your bonnet on, and
come straight off, and tell that to the magistrates," commanded Mr.
Dumps, in sullen tones.
She did not dare resist. Putting on her bonnet, flinging her old shawl
across her shoulders, she was marshalled by Mr. Dumps to the gig. To
look after Jim was a secondary consideration. To make his own excuse
good was the first; and if Jim had had a matter of twelve-hours' start,
he might be at twelve-hours' distance.
Not to be found! Jim Sanders had made his escape, and was not to be
found! reiterated the indignant Bench, when Mrs. Sanders and her escort
appeared. What did Bowen mean, by asserting that Jim was ready to be
called upon?
Bowen shifted the blame from his own shoulders to those of Dumps; and
Dumps, with a red face, shifted it on to Mrs. Sanders. She was sternly
questioned, and made the same excuse she had made to Dumps--it was his
saying to her that Jim had returned, and was in bed, that caused her in
her fright to agree with it, and reply that he was. But she had not seen
Jim, and he had never been a-nigh home since he went out with the puppy
in the earlier part of the evening. She knew no more where Jim was than
Dumps himself knew.
That she told the truth appeared to be pretty clear to the magistrates,
and to punish her for having so far used deceit to screen her son, might
have been neither just nor legal. They turned back on Dumps.
"What induced you to put such a leading question to the woman, assuming
the boy was at home and in bed?" they severely asked.
Dumps began rather to excuse himself than to explain. Such a thing
hadn't never happened to him before; and it was Mr. Apperley's fault,
for he met that gentleman nigh Meg Sanders's door, who told him Jim was
all right, and gone home to bed.
This was the first time Mr. Apperley's name had been mentioned in
connection with the affair, and the magistrates ordered him before them.
Nora insinuated her way to the front, and Mrs. Chattaway's face bent
lower, to conceal its anxious expression, the wild beating of her heart.
"Did you meet James Sanders last night, Mr. Apperley?" inquired the
chairman.
"Yes; I did, sir. I was going home, when the danger was over, and the
fire had got low, and I came upon Jim Sanders near his cottage, coming
from the direction of Layton's Heath. Knowing he had been wanted, I laid
hold of him: but the boy told me, simply enough, where he had been,--to
Barbrook, Barmester, and Layton's Heath after the engines. He was then
hastening to the Hold to help at the fire. I told him the fire was out,
and he might get to bed."
"And you told Dumps that he had gone to bed?"
"I did. I never supposed but Jim went home then and there; and when I
met Dumps a few minutes afterwards, I told him so. I can't understand it
at all. The boy seemed almost too tired to move, and no wonder--and
where he could have gone instead, is uncommon odd to me. It's to know
whether his mother speaks truth in saying he did not go in," added the
farmer, gratuitously imparting a little of his mind to the Bench.
"What did he say to you?"
"He said where he had been, and that he was going up to the Hold,"
replied the witness, in tones of palpable hesitation, as if weighing his
words.
"You are sure it was Jim Sanders?" asked a very silent magistrate who
sat at the end of the bench.
Mr. Apperley opened his eyes at this. "Sure it was Jim Sanders? Why, of
course I'm sure of it?"
"Well, it appears that only you, so far as can be learnt, saw Jim
Sanders at all near the spot after the alarm went out."
"Like enough," answered the farmer. "If the boy went to all these
places, one after the other, he couldn't be at the Hold. But there's no
mistake about my having seen him, and talked to him."
The danger appeared to be over. The Bench seemed to have no intention of
asking further questions of Mr. Apperley, and Nora breathed freely
again. But it often happens that when we deem ourselves most secure,
hidden danger is all the nearer. As the witness was turning round to
retire, Flood, the lawyer, stepped forward.
"A moment yet, if you please, Mr. Apperley. I must ask you a question or
two, with the permission of the Bench. I believe you had met Jim Sanders
before that, last night--soon after the breaking out of the fire?"
"Yes," replied the farmer; "it was at the bend of the road between the
Hold and Barbrook. I had that minute caught sight of the flame, not
knowing rightly where it was or what it was, and Jim came running up and
said, as well as he could speak for his hurry and agitation, that it was
in Mr. Chattaway's rick-yard."
"Agitated, was he?" asked the Bench; and a keen observer might have
noticed Mr. Flood's brow contract with a momentary annoyance.
"So agitated as hardly to know what he was saying, as it appeared to
me," returned the witness. "He went away at great speed in the direction
of Barbrook; on his way--as I learnt afterwards--to fetch the
fire-engines."
"And very laudable of him to do so," spoke up the lawyer. "But I have a
serious question to put to you now, Mr. Apperley; be so good as to
attend to me, and speak up. Did not Jim Sanders distinctly tell you that
it was Rupert Trevlyn who had fired the rick?"
Mr. Apperley paused in indecision. On the one hand, he was a plain,
straightforward, honest man, possessing little tact, no cunning; on the
other, he shrank from harming Rupert. Nora's words had left a strong
impression upon him, and the mysterious absence of Jim Sanders was also
producing its effect, as it was on three-parts of the people in court.
He and they were beginning to ask why Jim should run away unless he had
been guilty.
"Have you lost your voice, Mr. Apperley?" resumed the lawyer. "Did or
did not Jim Sanders say it was Rupert Trevlyn who fired the rick?"
"I cannot say but he did," replied Mr. Apperley, as an unpleasant
remembrance came across him that he had proclaimed this fact the
previous night to as many as chose to listen, to which incaution Mr.
Flood no doubt owed his knowledge. "But Jim appeared so flustered and
wild," he continued, "that my belief is--and I have said this
before--that he didn't rightly know what he was saying."
"Unless I am misinformed, you had just before met Rupert Trevlyn,"
continued Mr. Flood. "_He_ was wild and flustered, was he not?"
"He was."
"Were both coming from the same direction?"
"Yes. As if they had run straight from the Hold."
"From the rick-yard, eh?"
"It might be that they had; 'twas pretty straight, if they leaped a
hedge or two."
"Just so. You were walking soberly along the high-road, on your way to
Bluck the farrier's, when you were startled by the apparition of Rupert
Trevlyn flying from the direction of the rick-yard like a wild animal--I
only quote your own account of the fact, Mr. Apperley. Rupert was pale
and breathless; in short, as you described him, he must have been under
the influence of some great terror, or _guilt_. Was this so? Tell their
worships."
"It was so," replied Mr. Apperley.
"You tried to stop him, and you could not; and as you stood looking
after him, wondering whether he was mad, and, if not mad, what could
have put him into such a state, Jim Sanders came up and told you a piece
of news that was sufficient to account for any amount of
agitation--namely, that Rupert Trevlyn had just set fire to one of the
ricks in the yard at the Hold."
It was utterly impossible that Mr. Apperley in his truth could deny
this, and a faint cry broke from the lips of Mrs. Chattaway. But when
Mr. Flood had done with the farmer, it was Mr. Peterby's turn to
question him. He had not much to ask him, but elicited the positive
avowal--and the farmer seemed willing to make as much of it as did Mr.
Peterby--that Jim Sanders was in as great a state of agitation as Rupert
Trevlyn, or nearly so. He, Mr. Apperley, summed up the fact by certain
effective words.
"Yes, they were both agitated--both wild; and if those signs were any
proof of the crime, the one looked as likely to have committed it as the
other."
The words told with the Bench. Mr. Flood exerted his eloquence to prove
that Rupert Trevlyn, and he alone, must have been guilty. Not that he
had any personal ill-feeling towards Rupert; he only spoke in his
lawyerly instinct, which must do all it could for his client's cause.
Mr. Peterby, on the other hand, argued that the circumstances were more
conclusive of the guilt of James Sanders. Mr. Apperley had testified
that both were nearly equally agitated; and if Rupert was the most so,
it was only natural, for a gentleman's feelings were more easily stirred
than an ignorant day-labourer's. In point of fact, this agitation might
have proceeded from terror alone in each of them. Looking at the case
dispassionately, what real point was there against Rupert Trevlyn? None.
Who dared to assert that he was guilty? No one but the runaway, James
Sanders, who most probably proffered the charge to screen himself. Where
was James Sanders, Mr. Peterby continued, looking round the court.
Nowhere: he had decamped; and this, of itself, ought to be taken by all
sensible people as conclusive of guilt. He asked the Bench, in their
justice, not to remand Rupert Trevlyn, as was urged by Mr. Flood, but to
discharge him, and issue a warrant for the apprehension of James
Sanders.
Ah, what anxious hearts were some of those in court as the magistrates
consulted with each other. Mr. Chattaway had had the grace not to return
to his seat, and waited, as did the rest of the audience. Presently the
chairman spoke--and it is very possible that the general disfavour in
which Mr. Chattaway was held had insensibly influenced their decision.
It appeared to the Bench, he said, that there were not sufficient facts
proved against Rupert Trevlyn to justify their keeping him in custody,
or in remanding the case. That he may have smarted in passion under the
personal chastisement inflicted by Mr. Chattaway was not unlikely, and
that gentleman had proved that, when he left the rick-yard, the lighted
torch was, so to say, in possession of the prisoner. Mr. Apperley had
likewise testified to meeting Rupert Trevlyn soon afterwards in a state
of wild agitation. In the opinion of the Bench, these facts were not
worth much: the lighted torch was proved to be in the possession of
James Sanders in the rick-yard after this, as it had been before it; and
the prisoner's agitation might have been solely the effect of the
beating inflicted on him by Mr. Chattaway. Except the assertion of the
boy, James Sanders, as spoken to by Mr. Apperley and the servant-maid,
Bridget Sanders, there was nothing to connect the prisoner with the
actual crime. It had been argued by Mr. Peterby that James Sanders
himself had probably committed it, wilfully or accidentally, and that
his absence might be regarded as pretty conclusive proof of this. Be
that as it might, the Bench had come to the decision that there were not
sufficient grounds for detaining the prisoner, and therefore he was
discharged.
He was discharged! And the shout of approbation that arose in court made
the very walls ring.