Part 35 (1/2)

Sir Terence signified that he had no more to ask, and again the president invited the prisoner to question the witness, to receive again the prisoner's unvarying refusal.

And now O'Moy rose in his place to announce that he had himself a further statement to, make to the court, a statement which he had not conceived necessary until he had heard the prisoner's account of his movements during the half-hour he had spent at Monsanto on the night of the duel.

”You have heard from Sergeant Flynn and my butler Mullins that the letter carried from me by the latter to the former on the night of the 28th was a letter for the Commissary-General of an urgent character, to be forwarded first thing in the morning. If the prisoner insists upon it, the Commissary-General himself may be brought before this court to confirm my a.s.sertion that that communication concerned a complaint from headquarters on the subject of the tents supplied to the third division Sir Thomas Picton's--at Celorico. The doc.u.ments concerning that complaint--that is to say, the doc.u.ments upon which we are to presume that the prisoner was at work during tine half-hour in question--were at the time in my possession in my own private study and in another wing of the building altogether.”

Sir Terence sat down amid a rustling stir that ran through the court, but was instantly summoned to his feet again by the president.

”A moment, Sir Terence. The prisoner will no doubt desire to question you on that statement.” And he looked with serious eyes at Captain Tremayne.

”I have no questions for Sir Terence, sir,” was his answer.

Indeed, what question could he have asked? The falsehoods he had uttered had woven themselves into a rope about his neck, and he stood before his brother officers now in an agony of shame, a man discredited, as he believed.

”But no doubt you will desire the presence of the Commissary-General?”

This was from Colonel Fletcher his own colonel and a man who esteemed him--and it was asked in accents that were pleadingly insistent.

”What purpose could it serve, sir? Sir Terence's words are partly confirmed by the evidence he has just elicited from Sergeant Flynn and his butler Mullins. Since he spent the night writing a letter to the Commissary, it is not to be doubted that the subject would be such as he states, since from my own knowledge it was the most urgent matter in our hands. And, naturally, he would not have written without having the doc.u.ments at his side. To summon the Commissary-General would be unnecessarily to waste the time of the court. It follows that I must have been mistaken, and this I admit.”

”But how could you be mistaken?” broke from the president.

”I realise your difficulty in crediting, it. But there it is. Mistaken I was.”

”Very well, sir.” Sir Harry paused and then added ”The court will be glad to hear you in answer to the further evidence adduced to refute your statement in your own defence.”

”I have nothing further to say, sir,” was Tremayne's answer.

”Nothing further?” The president seemed aghast. ”Nothing, sir.”

And now Colonel Fletcher leaned forward to exhort him. ”Captain Tremayne,” he said, ”let me beg you to realise the serious position in which you are placed.”

”I a.s.sure you, sir, that I realise it fully.”

”Do you realise that the statements you have made to account for your movements during the half-hour that you were at Monsanto have been disproved? You have heard Private Bates's evidence to the effect that at the time when you say you were at work in the offices, those offices remained in darkness. And you have heard Sir Terence's statement that the doc.u.ments upon which you claim to have been at work were at the time in his own hands. Do you realise what inference the court will be compelled to draw from this?”

”The court must draw whatever inference it pleases,” answered the captain without heat.

Sir Terence stirred. ”Captain Tremayne,” said he, ”I wish to add my own exhortation to that of your colonel! Your position has become extremely perilous. If you are concealing anything that may extricate you from it, let me enjoin you to take the court frankly and fully into your confidence.”

The words in themselves were kindly, but through them ran a note of bitterness, of cruel derision, that was faintly perceptible to Tremayne and to one or two others.

Lord Wellington's piercing eyes looked a moment at O'Moy, then turned upon the prisoner. Suddenly he spoke, his voice as calm and level as his glance.

”Captain Tremayne--if the president will permit me to address you in the interests of truth and justice--you bear, to my knowledge, the reputation of an upright, honourable man. You are a man so unaccustomed to falsehood that when you adventure upon it, as you have obviously just done, your performance is a clumsy one, its faults easily distinguished.

That you are concealing something the court must have perceived. If you are not concealing something other than that Count Samoval fell by your hand, let me enjoin you to speak out. If you are s.h.i.+elding any one--perhaps the real perpetrator of this deed--let me a.s.sure you that your honour as a soldier demands, in the interests of truth and justice, that you should not continue silent.”

Tremayne looked into the stern face of the great soldier, and his glance fell away. He made a little gesture of helplessness, then drew himself stiffly up.

”I have nothing more to say.”

”Then, Captain Tremayne,” said the president, ”the court will pa.s.s to the consideration of its finding. And if you cannot account for the half-hour that you spent at Monsanto while Count Samoval was meeting his death, I am afraid that, in view of all the other evidences against you, your position is likely to be one of extremest gravity.