evidence produced. In his complete innocence of the crime imputed to
him, he had been unable to conceive or to recall a single incriminating
circumstance not susceptible of an easy and immediate explanation. Yet
more than one arose during the afternoon, when first the saddler, and
afterwards Tom Ivey, went into the box to bear witness against him; and
more than once the explanation, so full and clear in his own mind, was
incapable of confirmation or admission in the form of evidence. The
more striking instances were afforded by Fuller, whose testimony, though
convincing enough, and not the less so for its real or apparent
reluctance, came as a complete surprise to the prisoner. It appeared
that the saddler had returned to the rectory on the fatal night, more
than an hour after his first visit and summary dismissal, in order to
have his "say," and "not let the reverend have it all his own way." The
midnight visitor had found a light in the study, but the door shut, and
only the dog within. He had not entered, but had waited about the drive,
till, seeing a light in the church, he had made up his mind that "the
reverend" was there, and had decided not to interrupt him. So the
saddler had gone home and to bed, and was fast asleep when the
church-bells sounded the alarm.
"And what made you so sure that it was Mr. Carlton in the church with
the light?" inquired Mr. Preston.
"Because I couldn't find him in the rectory."
"But you did not go in?"
"I knocked and called, but I only made the dog bark."
The chairman leaned forward in his turn.
"Was the barking loud?" he asked. "Loud enough to be heard all over the
house?"
Carlton sprang to his feet. He had been accommodated with a chair, of
which he had quietly availed himself during the examination of this
witness, and the suddenness of his movement brought all eyes to his
face. It was quick with impatience and sarcastic disregard.
"If you are labouring to prove that I was not at my house, but in the
church," he cried, "your worship may save himself the time and trouble.
I was in the church. I lit one of the lamps."
This did not strike the prisoner as the sensational statement that it
was; he was therefore amazed at its effect upon the bench, where even
Rhadamanthus came to life, while James Preston opened eyes of horror,
and Wilders whispered to the clerk.
"That," said the chairman, "is an extremely serious statement, and one
that you are surely ill-advised in making. It is not evidence, but it is
being taken down in writing, and may be given in evidence against you at
your trial. I should certainly advise you to refrain from further
statements of the kind."
"I thought you wanted to get at the truth?"
"So we do. But I have warned you. Have you any questions to ask the
witness?"
"Not one; he is equally correct in his statements and his suppositions."
Thomas Ivey was then sworn, amid the hush of deepening interest, and
gave his evidence in a manly, straightforward, level-headed fashion,
that added its own weight to what he said for good or ill; and his
testimony told both ways. He described the scene in the church on his
arrival; the character of the fire, and the attitude of Mr. Carlton;
both of which, he admitted (in answer to a question from the chairman),
had struck him as suspicious at the first glance.
"But did you see him _do_ anything that you thought suspicious?" asked
the well-meaning Mr. Preston.
"I did, sir."
"What was that?" from the chairman.
"He threw something into the flames. But I couldn't see what that was."
"Did you afterwards find out?"
"No, sir."
Once more the prisoner attracted every eye. It was felt that he would
make another of his reckless and voluntary declarations. But this time
he was silent enough; and though the evidence now took a turn in his
favour, that silence left its mark.
Everybody knew how the clergyman had risked his life, when it was too
late, to save the church. But the story had not yet been told as Mr.
Preston contrived to elicit it from the lips of Tom Ivey. The Rector of
Linkworth had been from home when the fire took place. There was nothing
unnatural in his desire for details, nor did he put an improper
question. The chairman, however, betrayed more than a little impatience,
while the junior justice, on the other hand, displayed excitement of
another kind, and actually put in his word at last.
"Do you mean to say you let him throw the water single-handed," said he,
"while the rest of you stayed outside?"
"There was no stopping him, sir," said Ivey. "He would have all the
danger to himself."
"Then you could not see what use he made of the water?" suggested the
chairman, dryly.
"No, sir," said Tom; "I could only see the steam." And his tone was
still more dry.
Wilders looked at the clock as the examination concluded. The case had
not been taken till the afternoon; it was now nearly five. Wilders
beckoned and spoke to the inspector, subsequently addressing the
prisoner in his coldest tone.
"I understand that this is the last witness to be called against you,"
said he. "Do you propose to cross-examine him?"
"I do."
"And may I ask if you have any witnesses to call for your defence?"
"I may have one."
"Then it becomes my duty to adjourn the case." He whispered again to the
inspector, and at greater length with his colleagues, James Preston
appearing tenacious of some point upon which the chairman ultimately
gave way. "As the police have completed their case," continued Wilders,
"a remand of one day will be sufficient, and we shall simply adjourn
until to-morrow morning. But you may, if you like, apply for bail;
though the question, having due regard to the evidence which we have
heard, is one that would now require our grave consideration."
"You may spare yourselves the trouble," said Carlton shortly. "I don't
want bail."
And he went back to prison to lament his temper, but not to go through
the form of further prayer for patience and humility; for he felt that
these were beyond him in that public court, packed with prejudice from
door to door.
"I told you what he'd say," grumbled Wilders in the retiring-room.
"I don't blame him," said Mr. Preston. "My dear sir, he's innocent of
this!"
"I shall form _my_ opinion to-morrow," returned the canon, with dignity.
"Meanwhile I confess to some curiosity as to whom he thinks of calling
as his witness."
"The chappie shows us sport," quoth Rhadamanthus, "guilty or not guilty;
and I'm not giving odds either way."
XVI
END OF THE DUEL
Rhadamanthus reappeared without a visible garment that he had worn the
day before. He came spurred and breeched from the saddle, with a
horseshoe pin in his snowy tie, a more human collar, and a keener front
for the proceedings withal. Carlton felt his eye upon him from the
first, and returned the compliment by taking a new interest in the
nameless youth; he had long read the minds of the other two; his fate
was in this young fellow's keeping. He had no time, however, for idle
speculation as to the result. Tom Ivey was back in the witness-box, and
the accused was invited to cross-examine without delay.
Carlton soon showed that the interval had enabled him to profit by the
experience of the previous day. His questions were cunningly prepared.
He began with one not easy to put in an admissible form, yet he
succeeded in so putting it.
"You have sworn," said he, "that your very first glimpse of me in the
burning church was sufficient to create a certain suspicion in your
mind. Did you mention this suspicion to anybody--that night?"
"Not that night."
"That month?"
"Nor yet that month, sir."
"And why?"
"I didn't suspect you any more, sir."
Carlton tried hard to suppress his satisfaction, as a sensation to which
he was no longer entitled. He had come back to this in the night; but it
was harder to abide by it during the day. He paused a little, in honest
effort to rid his mind and tone of any taint of triumph; but his
advantage had to be pursued.
"May I ask when this suspicion perished?"
"Before we had been five minutes together, trying to save the church!"
"You are getting upon dangerous ground," said the chairman. "What the
witness thought, or when he ceased to think it, is not evidence."
"Another point, then," said Carlton: "do you remember the appearance of
the lamps?"
"Yes."
"What was it?"
"They were crooked."
"Did you notice any paraffin spilt about?"
"Yes, when my attention was called to it."
"Where was this paraffin?"
"On the pews that were catching fire."
"And who called your attention to it?"
"You did yourself, sir."
"I did myself!" repeated Carlton, struggling with his tone. "That will
do for that. I am going back for a moment to those suspicions of yours.
Have you never mentioned them to a human being?"
"Yes, sir, I have."
"As things of the past?"
"As things of the past."
"When was it that you first spoke of them?"
"Last Friday--the eighteenth, sir."
"And did you then speak of your own accord, or were you questioned?"
"I was questioned."
"As the first man to reach the burning church?"
"Yes, sir."
"Take care!" cried Wilders. "That was a leading question."
"It is the last," replied Carlton. "I have finished with the witness. I
would take this opportunity, however, of apologising to your worships
for the various errors and excesses which I have committed, and may
still commit, in my ignorance and inexperience of the law, and my
indignation at the charge. In this respect, and this alone, I crave the
indulgence of the bench, and beg leave to rectify one of my mistakes. I
spoke in haste when I said, yesterday, that I had no questions to ask
the witness Fuller. I desire, with your worships' permission, to have
that witness recalled."
The chairman was rather sharp: subsequent evidence might make the recall
of witnesses a necessity, but the lost opportunities of counsel, or of
accused persons conducting their own defence, were an altogether
insufficient reason. However, the man was in court, and the application
would be allowed.
"I appreciate the privilege," said Carlton, "and promise that it shall
not detain us many moments."
He was becoming as fluent and adroit as a past practitioner; in the
pauses of the fight he felt ashamed of his facility, a haunting sense
that it was indecent in him to defend himself at all. Yet he was one
against many; and, in this matter, an innocent man. Fight he must, and
that with all the skill and spirit in his power. His liberty, his
self-respect; his one remaining chance, object, and desire in life; nay,
his very life itself was at stake with these. It was no time for
dwelling upon the past. The sin that he had committed was one thing; the
crime that he had not committed was another. It was his duty to be just
to himself. Yet this was how he treated himself, whenever he had time to
think! He resolved to give himself fairer play than he seemed likely to
receive at the hands of others; and his resolve declared itself in the
ringing voice that shocked not a few who heard it, having found him
guilty already in their hearts.
"About that very story of the empty rectory and the light in the
church," he began, with Fuller--"about that perfectly true story," he
added, wilfully, "which you told us yesterday. Did you tell it to
anybody at the time?"
"Only Tom Ivey."
"Why only to him?"
"He asked me to keep that to myself."
"And did you?"
"I did my best, sir, but that slipped out one day when I was talking
to----"
"Never mind his or her name. You did your best to keep the matter to
yourself, but it slipped out one day in conversation. Now when did you
last tell that true story, not counting yesterday, as fully and
particularly as you told it here in court? Think. I want the exact date
of the very last occasion."
"That was last Friday, sir--to-day's the 22nd--that would be the 18th of
August."
"Last Friday, the 18th of August; a fatal day to me!" said Robert
Carlton. "Thank you. That is all I want from you."
The justices put no question. The clerk did not re-examine. The witness
was ordered to stand down. Then followed a short but heavy silence,
pregnant with speculation as to the drift of all these questions and the
object of so much unexplained insistence upon a date. It meant
something. What could it mean? Carlton stood upright in the dock, calm,
confident, inscrutable; it seemed a great many moments before the
silence was broken by the formal tones of the clerk.
"Do you call any witness for the defence?" he asked.
Carlton dropped his eyes into the well of the court, and they fell upon
a pair that were fastened upon his face with the glitter of fixed
bayonets.
"Yes," said he. "I wish you to call Sir Wilton Gleed."
Quietly though distinctly spoken, the name clapped like thunder on the
court. Amazement fell on all alike, for the issue between these two had
been the common theme for days. Popular sympathy had rightly sided with
morality, and its champion had lost nothing by his tactful magnanimity
in refraining from sitting upon the bench; that he should be put in the
box instead, and by his shameless adversary, was an audacity as hard to
credit as to understand. There was a moment's hush, then a minute's
buzz, to which the justices themselves contributed. Wilders muttered
that the man was mad; his colleague on the right confessed himself
nonplussed; his colleague on the left dropped his shaven chin upon his
gold horseshoe, and his shoulders shook with joy. Meanwhile Sir Wilton
had forced a grin and found his voice.
"You want me in the box, do you?"
"I do."
"Very well; you shall have me."
And he was sworn, still grinning, with an odd mixture of malevolence and
deprecation for those who ran to read. "I meant to keep out of this,"
the florid face said; "but now I'm in it--well, you'll see! It's the
fellow's own fault; his blood" etc., etc. But this was not what Sir
Wilton was saying in his heart.
Carlton began at the beginning.
"You are the patron of the living of Long Stow, are you not?"
"You know I am."
"I want the bench to have it from you; kindly answer my question."
"I am the patron of the living of Long Stow," said Sir Wilton, with mock
resignation.
"In the year 1880 did you, of your own free will and accord, present
that living to me?"
"Yes, and I've repented it ever since!"
There was a sympathetic murmur at the back of the court. It was
immediately checked. Every face was thrust forward, every ear strained,
every eye absorbed between the prisoner in the dock and the witness in
the box. It was no longer the uphill fight of one against many; it was
single combat between man and man, and the electricity of single combat
charged the air.
"You have repented it more than ever of late?" asked Carlton in steady
tones. The skin upon his forehead seemed stretched with pain; the veins
showed blue and swollen; but the many judged him from his voice alone.
"Naturally," sneered Sir Wilton.
"So much so that you were resolved I should resign?"
"I hoped you would have the decency to do so."
"Did you come to the rectory on the fifth of this month, and tell me it
was my first duty to resign the living?"
"I don't remember the date."
"Was it the Saturday before Bank Holiday?"
"I daresay. Yes, it must have been. I didn't expect to find you there. I
went to see the wreck and ruin of your home and church, not you."
"But you did come, and you did see me, and you did tell me it was my
first duty to resign my living?"
"Certainly I did."
"Do you remember your words?"
"Some of them."
Carlton looked at his pocket-book--at a note made overnight.
"Do you remember making use of the following expressions: 'Law or no
law, I'll have you out of this! I'll hound you out of it! I'll have you
torn in pieces if you stay'?"
"I may have said something of the kind," said the witness, with assumed
indifference.
"Did you, or did you not?" cried Carlton, slapping his hand on the rail
of the dock; the voice, the look, the gesture were familiar to many
present who had heard him preach; and thrilled them for all their new
knowledge of the preacher.
"Really I can't recall my exact words. I rather fancied they were
stronger."
Some one laughed at this, and the witness managed to recapture his grin;
but his demeanour was unconvincing.
"I am not talking about their strength," said Carlton. "Will you swear
that you did _not_ say, 'I'll have you out of this! I'll hound you out
of it'?"
"No, I will not."
"I thank you," said Carlton; and his ringing voice fell at a word to the
pitch of perfect courtesy. He ticked off the note in his pocket-book,
and the court breathed again; but its worthy president did more: he had
forgotten his position for several minutes, and he hastened to reassert
it with the first observation that entered his head.
"I don't see the point of this examination," said Canon Wilders.
"You will presently."
"If I don't I shall put a stop to it!"
Carlton raised his eyes from his notes, but not to the bench; they were
only for the witness now.
"Do you remember when and where we met again?"
"You had the insolence to call at my house."
"Was it on a Monday morning, the first after the Bank Holiday?"
"I suppose it was."
"I do not ask you to recall your exact words on that occasion. I simply
ask you to inform the bench whether I did, or did not, offer to resign
the living then and there--on a certain condition."
"Yes; you did," said Sir Wilton, doggedly. He was very red in the face.
Carlton could not resist a moment's enjoyment of his discomfiture: it
heightened the pleasure of letting him off.
"And did you decline?" he said at length.
"Stop a moment," said the chairman. "What was this condition, Sir
Wilton?"
"Am I obliged to give it?"
"Oh, if you think it inexpedient----"
"I think it unnecessary," said the witness, emphatically. "I think it
has nothing whatever to do with the case."
"In that case, Sir Wilton, we shall be only too happy not to press the
point."
Carlton had a great mind to press it himself. He had invited his enemy
to build the church out of his own pocket. The invitation had been
declined. Would it also be denied? Carlton was curious to see; but he
overcame his curiosity. It would not strengthen his defence, and to mere
revenge he must not stoop. So one temptation was resisted, and one
advantage thrown away, even in the final phase of the long duel between
these good fighters. But the other saw the struggle, and felt as he had
done when Carlton had returned him his stick in the ruins of the church.
"And did you decline?" repeated Carlton, in identically the same voice
as before.
"I did."
"Did I then point out to you that I was not only entitled, but might be
compelled, to keep my chancel, at any rate, 'in good and substantial
repair, restoring and rebuilding when necessary'? I quote the Act, your
worships, as I quoted it then. Do you remember, Sir Wilton?"
"I do."
"I made the point as plain as I have made it now?"
"Yes."
"And what did you say to that?"
The sudden change in the style of the question was glossed over by the
single artifice which Robert Carlton permitted himself during the
conduct of his case: instead of ringing triumphant, his voice dropped as
though he feared the answer. Sir Wilton fell into the trap.
"I said, 'If that's the law I'll see you keep it. Go and build your
church! Where there's a law there will be a penalty; go build your
church or I'll enforce it.'"
"Which did you expect to enforce--the penalty or the law?"
"I didn't mind which," declared the witness, after hesitation; and his
indifference was less successfully assumed than before.
"Oh!" said Carlton; "so you didn't mind my building the church after
all?"
Sir Wilton appealed wildly to the Bench.
"Am I to be browbeaten and insulted, by a convicted libertine and evil
liver, without one word of protest or reproof?"
The chairman coloured with confusion and indecision.
"I am afraid that you must answer his question, Sir Wilton," said Mr.
Preston, mildly.
"I share your opinion," said Rhadamanthus, in a tone that went further
than the words.
The chairman threw up his chin with an air, and fixed the accused with
his sternest glance.
"Pray what are you endeavouring to establish by this round-about and
impertinent examination?"
"In plain language?" asked Robert Carlton.
"The plainer the better."
"Then I am endeavouring to establish--and I _will_ establish, either
here or at the assizes--the fact that that man there"--pointing to Sir
Wilton Gleed--"has tried by fair means and by foul to rob me of a
benefice which is still mine in more than name. And I will further
establish, either here or at the higher court, if you like to send me
there, the patent and the blatant fact that this very charge is the last
and the foulest means by which that man has attempted to get rid of me!"
His clear voice thundered through the little court; his fine eye
flashed with as fine a scorn. But it was neither look nor tone that made
the silence when he ceased. It was the first unrestrained expression of
a personality incomparably stronger than any other there present; it was
the first just and unanimous--if unconscious--appreciation of that
personality in that place. There was a round clock that ticked many
times and noisily before the presiding magistrate broke the spell.
"A-bom-in-able language!" cried he in the separate syllables of his most
important moments. "You deserve to answer for your words alone in the
other court of which you speak!"
"I intend to prove them in this one," retorted Carlton, "if you give me
fair play."
"Oh, by all means let him have fair play!" exclaimed the witness, in
high tones that trembled. "I can take care of myself; don't study _me_.
Let him say what he likes, and let those who know his character and mine
judge between him and me."
Carlton looked at the quivering lip between the cropped whiskers, and
his jaws snapped on a smile as he returned to his pocket-book. But the
whole of his examination of Sir Wilton Gleed does not call for elaborate
report: its weakness and its strength will be recognised with equal
readiness. With a stronger spirit on the bench, or a weaker spirit in
the dock, or even a capable solicitor to prosecute for the police, much
of it had never been; as the play was cast it was the accused clergyman
who presided over that country court for the longest hour in his enemy's
life; nor, when he had won his ascendancy, did he use his power as
unsparingly as in the winning of it. The witness was allowed to come out
of the corner into which he had been driven before his appeal to the
bench; he had contradicted himself, and the contradiction was left to
tell its own tale without being pressed home. On the other hand, some
startling admissions were obtained in regard to the responsibility with
which the witness had finally sought to saddle the accused; he had bade
him build the church because he believed Carlton would find it an
impossible task; he recklessly admitted it, with a pale bravado that
imposed upon few people in court, and on but one upon the bench.
"You were still determined to get rid of me," said Carlton, "one way or
another?"
"I was."
"And this struck you as another way?"
"It did--at the moment."
"Ah," murmured the chairman, "we are all subject to the impulse of the
moment!"
Carlton put this point aside.
"And why did you think that I should find it an impossible task to
rebuild the church?"
"I thought you would find a difficulty in getting local men to work for
you."
"Your grounds for thinking that?"
"I considered your reputation in the district."
"Any other reason?"
"One or two builders and masons had spoken to me on the subject."
Carlton found a new place in his pocket-book, and read out a list of
nine names.
"Were any of these local men among the number?"
"Yes."
"All of them?"
"Ye--es."
"What! You admit having discussed me, during the present month, and
since I first spoke to you about rebuilding the church, with these nine
local builders or stonemasons?"
"I don't deny it," said Sir Wilton, stoutly.
"And do you know of any builder or stonemason in the neighbourhood with
whom you have _not_ discussed me?"
"Can't say I do."
"That's quite enough," said Carlton. "I shall not ask you what you said.
I do not purpose calling these men, at this court; time enough for that
at the assizes." And without further comment he took the witness through
one or two details of their last interview in the ruins; by no means
all; indeed, the date was the point most insisted upon.
"And so the very next day was last Friday, the 18th of August?"
concluded Carlton with apparent levity.
The witness refused to answer, appealed to the bench, and secured
another reprimand for the accused.