CHAPTER XII
THE TRIAL
It is a most terrible thing for a man of sensibility to stand in thedock of the Old Bailey before the awful array of Judges, Lord Mayor,Sheriffs and Aldermen. I know very well that most of the hardenedwretches that stand there have no sense of terror and little of anxiety.For them the Judge is like that fabled Sister who cuts the thread oflife: they have come to the end of their rope: their time is up: theyare fatalists in a stupid way: the sentence is passed: they bear nomalice against the informer: the game has been played according to therules--what more can a man desire? Tyburn awaits them. And afterwards?They neither know nor do they care.
Early on the morning of the trial, Mr. Dewberry came to see me. He wascheerful, and rubbed his hands with great satisfaction. 'The case,' hesaid, 'is complete. Never was a case more complete or more astonishingas you shall see.' He would not explain further: he said that walls,even in Newgate, have ears: that I must rely upon his word. 'Sir,' hesaid, 'so much I will explain because it may give you ease. Never has aman gone forth to be tried for his life, with a greater confidence inthe result than you ought to have. And, with that assurance enter theCourt with a light heart.'
They knocked off my irons before going into Court. Thus relieved, I wasmarched along a dismal passage, leading from the prison to the OldBailey. The Court was crowded, not so much out of compliment to me, butbecause it was bruited abroad among the rogues of St. Giles's that twoof their body were that day about to achieve greatness. They were,truly: but not in the way that was expected. The crowd, in fact,consisted chiefly of pickpockets and thieves, with their ladies. And theheroes of the day were the Bishop and the Captain.
At first, a prisoner entering the court, sees nothing. When the mistbefore his eyes clears away he observes the jury being sworn in--oneafter the other, they lift the great chained Bible and kiss its leatherncover, black with ten thousand kisses, and take their seats: he observesthe counsel arranging their papers: the officers of the court standingabout and the crowd in the gallery and about the doors: the box for thewitnesses--my heart sank when I saw sitting together my four enemies,looking calm and assured, as if there was no doubt possible as to theresults. Nay, the Captain seemed unable to repress or to conceal thepride he felt in imagination, at thinking of the figure he should cut.Mr. Ramage, my own witness, I saw modestly sitting in a corner. TomShirley, another witness for me, if he would prove of any use, was alsothere. As I entered the dock Mr. Probus turned and his lips moved as ifhe was speaking to Tom. I could not hear what he said, but I knew it,without the necessity of ears. He said, 'Sir, I saw you in Newgate threeweeks ago. Your friend might have saved his life, had he accepted myoffer. It is now too late.' Then he turned his hatchet face to me andgrinned. Well--he grins no longer. Under the Dock stood Alice, and withher, closely veiled, Jenny herself. They took my hands: Alice held theright and Jenny the left. 'Courage, my dear,' said Alice. 'It will soonbe over now.' 'It is all over already,' whispered Jenny. 'There is suchevidence as will astonish you--and the whole world.' She kissed my handand dropped a tear upon it. I was to learn afterwards what she meant,and what were her own sacrifices and perils in bringing forward thisevidence.
Then Mr. Dewberry came bustling up. 'That is your lawyer, Mr. Caterham,King's Counsel, now arranging his papers. I was with him yesterday. Hewill make a great case--a very great case--out of this. The attorneyarranges it all and the higher branch gets the credit of it all. Nevermind. That is your Junior, behind, Mr. Stanton. There's a head for you:there's an eye. I can always tell what they think of the case by the waythey arrange their papers. The Counsel in front of him is SerjeantCosins, King's Counsel, an able man--oh, yes--an able man: he conductsthe prosecution. We shall open his eyes presently. He thinks he has gotan ordinary case to conduct. He will see. He will see.'
Then the Judges came in: the Lord Mayor, Mr. Justice Parker, theAldermen, the Recorder, and the Sheriffs. The Lord Mayor sat in themiddle under the great sword of Justice: but the case was conducted byMr. Justice Parker, who sat on his right hand. I looked along the row offaces on the Bench. They all seemed white, cold, stern, hard andunforgiving. Despite assurances, my heart sank low.
I pass over the reading of the indictment, my pleading and the openingof the case. The Prosecutor said that although it was a most simplecase, which would not occupy the attention of the court very long, itwas at the same time one of the most flagrant and audacious robberiesthat had ever been brought before the court of the Old Bailey: that thefacts were few: that he was not aware of any possible line of defence:'Oh yes,' observed my Counsel, smiling, 'a very possible line ofdefence': that he, for one, should be prepared to receive any line ofdefence that could be set up. But he thought his learned brother wouldnot waste the time of the Court.
He then rehearsed the history of the facts and proceeded to call thewitnesses. First he called Samuel Carstairs, Doctor of Divinity (I donot intend to set down the whole of the evidence given by him or by theothers because you already know it).
The Doctor, with alacrity, stepped into the witness-box: he was cleanshaven, in a new wig, a silken cassock; snow white bands; and a flowinggown. But that his face was red and his neck swollen and his appearancefleshy and sensual--things which may sometimes be observed even amongthe City Clergy--he presented the appearance of a prosperousecclesiastic. For my own part I can never satisfy myself whether he wasin Holy Orders at all. One hopes, for the sake of the Church that he wasnot. After kissing the Testament with fervour, he turned an unblushingfront to the Prosecutor. He said that he was a Clergyman, a Doctor ofDivinity, formerly of Trinity College, Dublin, and some time the holderof certain benefices in the neighbourhood of that city. He deposed thaton the night in question he was making his way through Leicester Fieldsto Charing Cross at the time of nine in the evening or thereabouts: thatsuddenly a young man rushed out of some dark recess and flourished acudgel over him, crying, 'Your money or your life!' That being a man ofpeace, as becomes his profession, he instantly complied with the demandand handed over his purse: that he also cried out either on account ofthe extremity of his fear, or for help: that help came in the shape of astranger, who felled the ruffian: that they called the watch: carriedthe senseless robber to the guard-house, and that the witness's pursewas found in his pocket.
My counsel deferred cross-examining this witness for the present.
Next came the Captain. He, too, stood unabashed while he poured out histale of perjury. He assumed the style and title of a Gentleman from theNorth, Mr. Ferdinando Fenwick: and he entirely bore out the previouswitness's evidence. My counsel also deferred his cross-examination ofthis witness.
Mr. Merridew was the third witness. He followed suit. He deposed thathe was a Sheriff's officer. He had seen the assault and the rescue: hehad also helped to carry the robber to the round house. This witness'scross-examination was also deferred.
Mr. Probus, attired in black velvet with fine lace ruffles andneckerchief, so that his respectable appearance could not but impressthe jury, said that he was passing the watch-house, by accident, aboutmidnight, having been summoned by a client, when he saw an unconsciousfigure carried in: that he followed from motives of humanity hoping tobe of use to some fellow Christian: that he then perceived, to hisamazement, that the robber was none other than the son of his old friendand employer the late Sir Peter Halliday, Alderman and ex-Lord Mayor:that he saw the worthy clergyman's purse taken from his pocket so thatthere could be no doubt of his guilt. He also added that it was fouryears and more since Sir Peter had turned his son out of doors, sincewhen he believed that the young man had earned a precarious living byplaying the fiddle to sailors and such low company.
Then the cross-examination began.
My counsel asked him first, whether he knew any of the three precedingwitnesses. He did not: they were strangers to him. Had he never seen theman Merridew? He never had. Did not Merridew owe him money? He did not.He was now attorney to Mr. Matthew Halliday? Had he ever taken the manMerridew to
Mr. Halliday's counting-house? He had not. 'In fact, Mr.Probus, you know nothing at all about Mr. Merridew?' 'Nothing.' 'Andnothing about the other two men?' 'Nothing.'
'I come now, Mr. Probus, to a question which will astonish the Court.Will you tell me in what way the prisoner's death will benefit you?'
'In no way.'
'Oh! In no way. Come, Sir, think a little. Collect yourself, I pray you.You are attorney to Mr. Matthew Halliday. You have lent him money?' Noanswer. 'Please answer my question.' No answer. 'Never mind, I shallfind an answer from you before long. Meantime I inform the Jury that youhave lent him L25,000 on the condition that he pays 15 per cent.interest on L40,000, the sum to be repaid. That is the exact descriptionof the transaction, I believe?'
He replied unwillingly, 'If you please to say so.'
'Very well. Now your client has spent, or lost, the whole of his moneyand yours--do not deny the fact because I am going to prove itpresently. He cannot pay you one farthing. In fact, before long the firmof Halliday Brothers will become bankrupt.' (There was a movement and awhisper among the Aldermen and Sheriffs on the Bench.) 'Is this true ornot?' No answer.
'My Lud, I press for an answer. This is a most important question. I canfind an answer from another witness, but I must have an answer from thewitness now in the box.'
'Answer the question immediately, Sir,' said the Judge.
'I do not know.'
'You do not know? Come, Sir, have you been informed, or have you not, byMr. Matthew Halliday himself, of his position?'
'I have not.'
'You have not. Mark his answer, gentlemen of the Jury. Do not forget hisstatement. He says that he knows nothing and has been told nothing ofhis client's present unfortunate condition. Let us go on. The late SirPeter Halliday left a large sum of money--L100,000, I believe--to thesurvivor of two--either his son or his nephew?'
'That is true.'
If Halliday Brothers becomes bankrupt, your claim would rank with thoseof the other creditors?'
'I suppose so.'
'In which case you would get little or nothing of the L40,000. But ifthe prisoner could be persuaded to sell his chance of succession beforethe declaration of bankruptcy, your client could raise money on thatsuccession out of which you could be paid in full, if he consented?'
'Yes, if he consented.'
'You have already made three several attempts to make him sell, have younot?'
'Acting by my client's instructions.'
'The first time, when he refused, you threatened revenge, did you not?'
'I did not.'
'You then clapped him in a debtors' prison on a trumped-up charge ofdebt?'
'It was a debt due to an estate placed in my hands.'
'The prisoner denied the debt: said that the instrument was given to himby the owner, did he not?'
'Perhaps.'
'But you put him in prison and kept him there?'
'I did, acting for my clients, the executors.'
'The next time you called upon him and offered to buy his share wasabout six weeks ago?'
'It was, acting on instructions from my client.'
'He refused. You then threatened him again?'
'I did not.'
'Two days afterwards the alleged robbery took place at which you were anaccidental observer?'
'Accidental.'
'I said so--accidental. Now, if this case should prove fatal to theprisoner, on his death your client, not a bankrupt, would take the wholeof the L100,000?'
'He would.'
'You would then expect to be paid?' No answer. 'I say, you would thenexpect to be paid?'
'I should hope to be.'
'In full?'
'I should hope so.'
'Then you would be the better by L40,000 by the execution of theprisoner?'
'If you put it so, I should.'
'You made a third and last attempt, a few days ago, to obtain hisconsent?'
'I did, acting on my client's instructions.'
'When he was in Newgate. There were present two other friends of theprisoner. You then offered, if he would sign the document, to withdrawthe principal witnesses?'
'I did not.'
'I put it in another way. You promised, if he would sign, that theprincipal witnesses should not appear?'
'I did not.'
'You swear that you did not?'
'I swear that I did not.'
'You say that you have no power to withdraw witnesses?'
'I have no power to withdraw witnesses.'
'You have no power over the case at all?'
'None.'
Mr. Caterham sat down. Serjeant Cosins stood up.
'You might be the better by the prisoner's death. You are not however inany way concerned with the case except as an accidental observer?'
'Not in any way.'
'And you are not in any way acquainted with the witnesses who arechiefly concerned?'
'Not at all.'
Mr. Probus sat down.
Mr. Caterham called again, the Rev. Dr. Samuel Carstairs.
'My Lud,' he began, 'I must ask that none of the witnesses in this casebe allowed to leave the court without your Ludship's permission.'
The Bishop entered the box, but with much less assurance than he hadpreviously assumed. And the cross-examination began.
I then understood what Jenny meant when she talked of making the casecomplete. He swore again that his name was Carstairs: that he had heldpreferment in the county of Dublin: he named, in fact, three places: hehad never used any other name: he was not once called Onslow, at anothertime Osborne: at another Oxborough: he knew nothing about these names:he had never been tried at York for fraud: or at Winchester forembezzlement: he had never been whipped at the cart-tail at Portsmouth.As these lies ran out glibly I began to take heart. I looked at Probus:he was sitting on the bench, his fingers interlaced, cold drops of dewrising upon his forehead and nose. But the Bishop held out bravely, thatis, with a brazen impudence.
'You know, Doctor, I believe, the Black Jack?'
'A tavern, is it? No, sir, I do not. One of my profession should not beseen in taverns.'
'Yet surely you know the Black Jack, close to St. Giles's Church?'
'No, sir, I am a stranger in London.'
'Do you know the nickname of the "Bishop"?'
'No.'
'Oh! you never were called the "Bishop"?'
'No.'
'Do you know the gallant gentleman who rescued you?'
'No, I do not.'
'You do not know him? Never met him, I suppose, at the Black Jack?'
'Never.'
'Never? Do you know the other witness, Mr. Merridew?'
'No, I do not.'
'Where were you staying for the night when this romantic incidenthappened?'
For the first time the Bishop hesitated. 'I--I--forget,' he said.
'Come, come, you cannot forget so simple a thing, you know. Where wereyou staying?'
'It was in a street off the Strand--I forget its name--I am a strangerto this city.'
'Well--where did you stay last night?'
'In the same street--I forget its name.'
'Not at the Black Jack, St. Giles's?'
He was pressed upon this point, but nothing could be got out of him. Hestuck to the point--he had forgotten the name of the street, and he knewnothing of the Black Jack.
So he stood down. The Captain was called by the name he gavehimself--Ferdinando Fenwick. He said he had never been known by anyother name, that he had no knowledge of the name of Tom Kestever. He hadnever heard that name. Nor did he know of any occasion on which the saidTom Kestever had been ducked for a pickpocket: flogged for a rogue:imprisoned and tried on a capital charge for cattle lifting. Oh! Jenny,the case was well got up, truly. He, too, had never heard of the BlackJack, and stoutly stood it out that he was a gentleman of Cumberland.Asked what village or town of Cumberland, he named Whitehaven as theplace in which he was born and had his property--to wi
t, five farmscontiguous to the town and two or three messuages in the town.
When this evidence was concluded a juryman rose and asked permission ofthe Court to put a question to the witness, which was granted him.
'Those farms,' he said, 'are contiguous to Whitehaven? Yes, and you wereborn in that town? What was your father by occupation?'
'He was a draper.'
'My lord,' said the Juryman, 'I am myself a native of Whitehaven. I amthe son of the only draper in the town. I am apparently about the sameage as the witness. I have never seen him in the town. There is noreputable tradesman of that name in the town, or anywhere near it. Thereare gentlefolk of the name, but in Northumberland.'
'I wish, Sir,' said the Counsel, 'that I had you in the box.'
'The statement of a Juryman is not evidence,' the Prosecuting Counselinterposed.
'I fear, my learned brother,' said the Judge, 'that when the Juryretire, it will become a strong piece of evidence, whatever direction Imay give them.'
The Serjeant declined to re-examine this evidence.
Then my counsel called Mr. Merridew, who very reluctantly got into thebox again.
He denied solemnly that he knew either of the preceding witnesses. Hedenied that he knew the Black Jack. He owned, with a pretence at pride,that he had frequently served his country by informing against roguesand had taken the reward to which he was entitled. He denied that heencouraged young fellows to become highwaymen in hopes of securing thehigher reward. He denied that he knew Mr. Probus. He swore that heshould not benefit by the conviction of the prisoner.
You observe that the object of the Counsel was to make everyone plungedeeper into the mire of perjury. His case was strong indeed, or he wouldnot have followed this method.
The Counsel then called half a dozen witnesses in succession. They wereturnkeys from York, Winchester, Reading and Portsmouth and other places.They identified the Rev. Dr. Samuel Carstairs, D.D., as a personnotoriously engaged in frauds for which an educated person wasnecessary. He had been imprisoned for two years at Winchester forembezzlement: for a twelvemonth with a flogging at York for fraud: hewas whipped through the High Street of Portsmouth and down to Point andback again for similar practices. They also identified the Captain as arogue from tender years: hardly a whipping-post anywhere but knew thesound of his voice: hardly a prison in which he had not passed some ofhis time.
And now the case looked brighter. Everyone was interested, from theAldermen to the Jury: it was a case of surprises: only Serjeant Cosinsstood with his papers in his hand looking perplexed and annoyed. So farthere was no doubt about the two fellows, the authors of the charge,being notorious and arrant rogues. A very pitiful figure they cut, asthey sat side by side on the witnesses' bench. Even their own friends inthe gallery were laughing at them, for the admiration of the rogue isfor successful roguery, while for detected roguery he has nothing butcontempt.
Then the Counsel called John Ramage. He said that he was an accountantin the counting-house of Messrs. Halliday Brothers: that in thatcapacity he knew the position of the House: that in two years themanaging partner, Mr. Matthew Halliday, had reduced the business to astate of insolvency: that they might become bankrupts at any moment:that creditors were pressing, and the end could not be far off. He wenton to state that he revealed the secrets of his office because he wasinformed that the knowledge was necessary for the defence of Mr. WilliamHalliday, and that the safety and innocence of his late master's onlyson were of far more importance to him than the credit of the House. Andhere the tears came into his eyes. This, however, was the leastimportant part of the case. For he went on to depose that the positionof his desk near the door of Mr. Matthew's office enabled him to hearall that went on: that Mr. Probus was constantly engaged with Mr.Matthew: that every day there were complaints and quarrels between them:that Mr. Probus wanted his money back, and that Mr. Matthew could notpay him: that every day they ended with the regret that they could nottouch this sum of money waiting for the survivor: that every day theysighed to think what a happy event it would be for them both if Mr.William Halliday were dead. That, one day, Mr. Probus said that therewere many ways for even a young man to die: he might, for instance, fallinto the hands of the law: to this Mr. Matthew gave no reply, but whenhe was alone began to drink. That Mr. Probus returned the next day withMr. Merridew, who said that the job was easy and should be done, but heshould expect to stand in: he said that the thing would cost a gooddeal, but that, for a thousand pounds, he thought that Mr. WillHalliday's case might be considered certain. 'When I heard this,' thewitness said, 'I hastened to Lambeth, where Mr. Will was living with hiswife. I could not see him because he was playing for Madame Vallance'sAssembly. I therefore went again to Lambeth the next day, which wasSunday, and I told him all. While I was telling him, Mr. Probus himselfcame. So they put me in the kitchen where I could hear what was said.Mr. Probus made another effort to persuade Mr. Will to sell his chanceof succession. Then he went away in a rage, threatening things. So Iimplored Mr. Will to get out of the way of the villains. He promised:but it was too late. The next thing I hear is that he has been chargedwith highway robbery. Mr. Will--the best of men!'
I now thought my case was going pretty well.
There were, however, other witnesses.
To my amazement Jenny's mother appeared. She was dressed up as a mostrespectable widow with a white cap, a black dress, and a white apron.She curtseyed to the Court and kissed the book with a smack, as if sheenjoyed it.
She said that she was a widow, and respectable: that she kept the BlackJack, which was much frequented by the residents of St. Giles's. TheCounsel did not press this point but asked her if she knew the Rev. Dr.Carstairs. She replied that she knew him, under other names, as afrequenter of her house off and on for many years: that he wasfamiliarly known as the 'Bishop': that she did not inquire into thetrades of her customers, but that it was understood that the Bishop wasone of those who use their skill in writing for various purposes: forthreatening persons who have been robbed: for offering stolen propertyfor sale: for demanding money: for forging documents: and other branchesof roguery demanding a knowledge of writing. She showed her ownknowledge of the business by her enumeration of the branches. She said,further, that the gentleman had slept at the Black Jack every night forthe last two months: that he had a bed there, took his meals there, andcarried on his business there. As regards Mr. Ferdinando Fenwick, sheknew him as the 'Captain,' or as Tom Kestever, and she identified him inthe same way and beyond any power of doubt. As for Merridew, she knewhim very well: he was a thief-taker by profession: he gave his man agood run and then laid information against him: he encouraged youngrogues and showed them how to advance in their profession: and shedeposed that on a certain day Merridew came to the house where theBishop and the Captain were drinking together and sat with them: thatall their talk was about getting a man out of the way: that the Bishopdid not like it, but was told by Mr. Merridew very plainly that he must,and that he then assented.
Jenny's sister, Doll, next appeared. She was transformed into a youngand pleasing woman with a silver ring for greater respectability. Herevidence corroborated that of her mother. But she added an importantparticular, that one morning when there was no one in the place but theBishop and the Captain, Mr. Probus came with Mr. Merridew and satconversing with those two gentlemen for a long time.
Then the young fellow called Jack went into the box. By this time theinterest of everyone in the court was intense, because here was theunrolling of a plot which for audacity and wickedness was perhapsunequalled. And the wretched man Probus, still writhing in his seat,cast his eyes to the door in hopes of a chance at flight: in his agonyhis wig was pushed back, and the whole of his head exposed to view. Iconfess that horror rather than revenge possessed me.
The young fellow called Jack gave his evidence in a straightforward way.He confessed that he had run away from his native village in consequenceof an unfortunate love affair; that he had come up to town, hoping toget
employment: that he had been taken to the Black Jack by someone whomet him in the street: that he had there been introduced to Mr.Merridew, who promised to find him work: that in fact he had beenemployed by him in shop-lifting and in small street robberies: hisemployer, he explained, would go along the street first and make a signwhere he could carry off something: that he was promised promotion to bea highwayman by Mr. Merridew if he should deserve it: that he had beentold to keep himself in readiness to help in knocking a gentleman on thehead: that the thing was talked over with him by the Bishop and theCaptain: that at the last moment they told him they should want none ofhis help. Asked what he should do after giving this evidence, repliedthat if Mr. Merridew got off, he should have to enlist in order to savehis neck, which would be as good as gone. More he said, but this was themost important.
Then Mr. Caterham called Mr. Halliday.
My unfortunate cousin entered the witness-box pale and trembling. Inanswer to questions he acknowledged that he had lost the whole of hisfortune and ruined a once noble business in the space of three or fouryears. He confessed that his bankruptcy was inevitable: that Probus hadbeen urgent with him to get his cousin to sell his chance of successionin order to raise money by which he himself might recover his money:that he was willing to do so if his cousin would sell: but his cousinwould not. He said that Mr. Probus had come to him stating that a man'slife might be lost in many ways: that, for instance, he might fall intothe hands of the law: that he had brought Mr. Merridew, who offered toarrange so that his cousin might lose his life in some such way if hewere paid a thousand pounds down; that he would not listen to suchdetestable overtures; that he heard of his cousin's arrest: that he hadinformed his cousin's attorney of the offer made him by Probus andMerridew: but he had neither paid nor promised a thousand pounds, oranything at all: and that he had never been a consenting party to theplot.
He was allowed to stand down: he remained in the court, trembling andshivering, as pitiable an object as the wretched conspiratorsthemselves.
If there had been interest in the case before, judge what it was now inthe appearance of the next witness, for there entered the box none otherthan Jenny herself, the bewitching Jenny. She was all lace and ribbons,as beautiful a creature as one could expect to see anywhere. She smiledupon the Judge and upon the Lord Mayor: she smiled upon the Jury: shesmiled upon me, the prisoner in the Dock. In answer to the questions putto her, she answered, in substance: 'My name is Jenny Halliday. I am thewife of the last witness, Matthew Halliday. I am an actress. I am knownby my maiden name, Jenny Wilmot. As an entertainer, I am known as MadameVallance.' There was now the most breathless attention in Court. 'Bybirth, I am the daughter of the landlady of the Black Jack. It is aplace of resort of the residents of St. Giles's. Most of them, to mycertain knowledge, probably all, are thieves. I sometimes go there tosee my mother and sister, not to see the frequenters of the place.Whenever I do go there, I always find the two witnesses who just nowcalled themselves Carstairs and Fenwick: at the Black Jack they werealways called the Bishop and the Captain. I have always heard, and Iunderstand, that they are rogues of the deepest dye. The Bishop is not aclergyman at all: he is so called because he dresses like a clergymanand can write well: the Captain is a highwayman: most of his fraternitycall themselves Captains: he is the son of a butcher in Clare market.His name is Tom Kestever. Both are Mr. Merridew's men: that is, theyhave to carry out whatever he orders, and they live in perpetual terrorthat their time is up. The last time I was in the Black Jack, Merridewcame in, drank a glass or two of punch in a friendly way, and so leftthem. When he said that he did not know the men, it was flat perjury. Hewas continually in the Black Jack looking up his people; admonishing theyoung and threatening the elders. Not a rogue in London but knows Mr.Merridew, and trembles at the thought of him.'
Asked about Mr. Probus, she said she did not know him at all, save byrepute. That he constantly threatened the prisoner with consequences ifhe did not consent to sell his chance of succession: and that she hadbeen present on a certain occasion in Newgate when Mr. Probus visitedthe prisoner and offered him there and then, if he would sign thedocument offered, that the principal witnesses should not appear at theTrial, which would thus fall through.
Asked as to her knowledge of the prisoner, she deposed that she foundhim in the King's Bench Prison, sent there through the arts of Mr.Probus: that she took him out, paying the detainers: that she then gavehim employment in her orchestra: that he was a young gentleman of thehighest principle, married to a wife of saintly conduct and character:that he was incapable of crime--that he lived quietly, was not in debt,and received for his work in the orchestra the sum of thirty shillings aweek, which was enough for their modest household.
Asked again about her husband, she said that she could not live withhim, partly because he was an inveterate gambler: and that to gratifythis passion there was nothing he would not sell. That he had gamed awaya noble fortune and ruined a noble business: that steps had already beentaken to make him bankrupt: and that it was to save his own money thatthe man Probus had designed this villainy.
'Call Thomas Shirley.' It was the Junior Counsel who rose.
Tom went into the box and answered the preliminary questions. 'Do youremember meeting Mr. Probus in Newgate about a month ago?'
'I do.'
'What offer did he make?'
'He offered my brother-in-law L5,000 down if he would sell his chance ofthe succession, and further promised that the principal witnesses shouldnot appear.'
'You swear that this was his offer?'
'I swear it.'
The counsel looked at Serjeant Cosins who shook his head.
'You may sit down, Sir.'
'My Lud,' said Mr. Caterham, 'my case is completed. I have no otherevidence unless you direct me to sweep the streets of St. Giles's andcompel them to come in.'
When all the evidence was completed there was a dead silence in theCourt. Everybody was silent for a space: the faces of the rogues in thegallery were white with consternation: here were the very secrets oftheir citadel, their home, the Black Jack, disclosed, and by the verypeople of the Black Jack, the landlady and her daughters. The Jurylooked at each other in amazement. Here was the complete revelation of aplot which for wickedness and audacity went beyond everything everinvented or imagined. What would happen next?
'Brother Cosins,' said the Judge.
He threw his papers on the desk. 'My Lud,' he said, 'I throw down mybrief.'
Then the Judge charged the Jury. 'Gentlemen,' he said, 'it has beenclearly established--more clearly than I ever before experienced, that awicked--nay a most horrible--crime, designed by one man, carried out bythree others, has been perpetrated against the prisoner, WilliamHalliday. It is a case in which everything has been most carefullyprepared: the perjury of the witnesses has been established beyond adoubt even though the witnesses have been in part taken from the regionsof St. Giles's, and from actual criminals. Gentlemen, there is but oneverdict possible.'
They did not leave the box: they conferred for a moment: rose andthrough their foreman pronounced their verdict--'Not Guilty.' They addeda hope that the conspirators would not escape.
'They shall not,' said the Judge. 'William Halliday, the verdict of thejury sets you free. I am happy to say that you leave this court with anunblemished character: and that you have the most heartfeltcommiseration of the court for your wholly undeserved sufferings andanxiety.' Then the Judge turned to the four. 'I commit Eliezer Probus:Samuel Carstairs alias what he pleases: the man who calls himselfFerdinando Fenwick: and John Merridew for trial on the charge ofconspiracy and perjury.'