THE CASE THAT FAILED
Bobby Herrick was sound in wind and limb; healthy in heart and
brain; but for a moment or two he sat dazed and helpless in face of
the position that confronted him. The whole thing seemed unreal,
impossible, and the monotonous calling of the names of the jurymen fell
upon his ears like a buzzing sound of no intelligible significance. The
faces in Court blended into a sort of misty phantasmagoria, until out
of the mist one face immediately opposite him riveted his attention.
Presently it stood out, distinct and well defined, with a watchful
look in the dark and piercing eyes, and a sardonic smile on its upward
curving lips. It was a face to be remembered; a face he was destined to
see again in the course of those tragic episodes which the history of
events in London was shortly to unfold.
The Treasury Solicitor, he found, was plucking at his gown. “You
must ask for an adjournment,” he whispered urgently; “it is the only
thing to do.” Almost at the same moment the judge’s voice was heard.
His lordship spoke with eye directed towards the vacant seats of the
prosecuting counsel.
“Where are your leaders, Mr Herrick?”
Herrick rose amid the silence that succeeded the inquiry, conscious
that every eye in Court was fixed upon him.
“My lord,” he said, in a voice slightly tremulous at first, “by a most
unfortunate and remarkable combination of events, my learned friends
are prevented from being present.”
“Surely not all of them!” exclaimed the judge. “I heard some rumour of
an accident to Mr Boulton--is it true?”
“He was attacked and maltreated in the street last night, my lord, and
is now in hospital.”
“Another example of the growing spirit of lawlessness which prevails
in this city,” said the Chief Justice sternly. “I deplore the absence
of Mr Boulton, especially for such a reason; but where is the
Solicitor-General?”
“I regret to inform your lordship that he has been seized with sudden
and, I fear, serious illness.”
“This is most extraordinary,” said the Chief Justice, leaning back and
taking off his glasses.
“Silence!” cried the usher, as a hum of subdued comment arose in the
body of the Court.
“What makes the position still more serious, my lord,” continued
Herrick, “is the absence of Mr Dutton also, for reasons of a family
nature.”
“Is there no likelihood of his being here presently?”
“He has been summoned to the north of England, and left Euston this
morning, my lord, as stated in this telegram.”
“A chapter of accidents, indeed! Well, Mr Herrick, _you_ are here.”
“Yes, but being taken by surprise, I am quite unable to do justice
to the prosecution, and my instructions are to ask your lordship to
adjourn the trial.”
“To that the defence cannot possibly assent,” interposed Mr Jacobs,
on his feet instantly. “I speak at any rate for the prisoner whom I
represent.”
“I say the same on behalf of my client, my lord,” added Mr Brill.
“Well, Mr Herrick----?” from the judge.
“My learned friend is too modest,” said Jacobs.
“_Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes_,” retorted Herrick, with happy
inspiration.
Lord Malvern laughed a silent little laugh, and an audible little
laugh went round the Court from those who understood the tag, and from
those also who laugh because others laugh; for always man, as Lord
Beaconsfield truly observed, is mimetic.
Then the brief flash of merriment died out, and the Court came back to
business.
“It is perfectly clear that the trial must proceed,” said the learned
judge. “Much public time has already been devoted to the case, and, I
may add, much public money. The convenience of the jury and of many
witnesses must be considered. This is the fourth day we have been here,
and it is desirable on every ground that it should be the last.”
“But, my lord, the Crown will lose the benefit of Sir John Westwood’s
reply on the whole case.”
“Sir John Westwood is not here, Mr Herrick.”
“And the privilege of a law officer of the Crown in the connection
mentioned is thought by some to be the more honoured in the breach than
in the observance,” remarked Mr Jacobs.
“On this occasion you are for the defence, Mr Jacobs,” said his
lordship. “On another occasion----” His lordship paused, with a
humorous twinkle in his eye, and the gap was filled with a burst of
laughter this time; for it was well known that the successful Hebrew
advocate had his unsatisfied ambitions.
“Are there any witnesses for the defence?” asked the Chief Justice,
when silence was restored.
“I call none,” said Mr Jacobs; and Mr Brill merely shook his head by
way of answer for his client.
“Very well, then, it only remains for Mr Herrick to address the jury.
Counsel for the prisoners will follow, and my summing-up will not
occupy more than an hour. The jury will understand,” said his lordship,
turning towards them, “that however unfortunate the absence of the
leading counsel, and however valuable the speeches of those who are
present, it is upon the facts, and the facts alone, that their verdict
must be based, according to the evidence. Now, Mr Herrick.”
* * * * *
Thus it came about that greatness of a sort was thrust upon Aldwyth
Westwood’s lover. Thus did fortune place in his way a golden
opportunity. But this is no story of a young barrister’s triumphant
achievement, according to the interesting precedents recorded by
the lady novelists. Young Herrick, at this stage of the strange and
terrible game then opening, was little better than a pawn on the
chessboard of a master-player. Throughout the moves that followed
on that Saturday in April, he felt half conscious of the fact, and
the face which had looked out of the mist at the beginning seemed to
dominate him until the end.
Herrick, thought most of his friends, rose to the occasion, dealing
effectively with the complex facts and figures of the case. There were
others who shrugged their shoulders, and merely conceded that he “did
his best,” considering how heavily he was overweighted. In reality,
the performance was nothing to be ashamed of; nothing to boast of. The
older and more experienced advocates on the other side paid him some
handsome compliments when their innings came. But that did not prevent
them from making mince-meat of his arguments, and hammering home their
own. It may be doubted, however, whether the most powerful advocate
who ever breathed the air of the Criminal Courts of England would have
drawn a verdict of Guilty from the jury.
The judge, in his lucid summing-up, virtually told them to convict;
but there were other and more powerful influences at work. As the
trial proceeded, the voice of a great crowd outside the walls of
the Court rose in tumultuous sounds at intervals. In spite of the
efforts of the police, it became only too plain that there was a
demonstration--organised, determined; and that, for reasons then but
imperfectly understood, the acquittal of the prisoners was demanded.
It was, in effect, the first skirmish in that campaign against the
forces of law and order, of which, presently, London was to be the
battleground. The voice of the people prevailed. After an hour’s
absence, and sundry messages of inquiry from the Chief Justice, the
jury returned into Court with a verdict of “Not guilty.”
“And that is the verdict of you all,” echoed the Clerk of Arraigns in
the usual formula.
Here and there in the packed Court there was an involuntary exclamation.
“Silence! silence!” came from the ushers and police.
“The prisoners will be discharged,” said the judge, whose manner had
assumed the utmost gravity, “and,” he added significantly, “the jury
will be discharged also from further duties in the box during the
present sessions.”
Lord Malvern left the Bench as the two prisoners disappeared down the
steps leading from the dock.
A babel of voices arose outside the building, and grew, unchecked,
until it became a mighty roar of triumph from the mob.
The verdict was known; cheer after cheer broke out, and the accused,
prisoners no longer, were received as heroes, and borne shoulder high
from the gates of the prison, through the streets of London.