Part 29 (1/2)
CALTON: What were you talking about?
WITNESS: All sorts of things. London princ.i.p.ally.
CALTON: Did the deceased mention anything about papers?
WITNESS (surprised): No, he did not.
CALTON: Are you sure?
WITNESS: Quite sure.
CALTON: What time did you get home?
WITNESS: I don't know; I was too drunk to remember.
This closed the case for the Crown, and as it was now late the case was adjourned till the next day.
The Court was soon emptied of the busy, chattering crowd, and Calton, on looking over his notes, found that the result of the first day's trial was two points in favour of Fitzgerald. First: the discrepancy of time in the evidence of Rankin and the landlady, Mrs. Sampson. Second: the evidence of the cabman Royston, as to the wearing of a ring on the forefinger of the right hand by the man who murdered Whyte, whereas the prisoner never wore rings.
These were slender proofs of innocence to put against the overwhelming ma.s.s of evidence in favour of the prisoner's guilt. The opinions of all were pretty well divided, some being in favour and others against, when suddenly an event happened which surprised everyone. All over Melbourne extras were posted, and the news pa.s.sed from lip to lip like wildfire--”Return of the Missing Witness, Sal Rawlins!”
CHAPTER XVIII.
SAL RAWLINS TELLS ALL SHE KNOWS.
And, indeed, such was the case. Sal Rawlins had made her appearance at the eleventh hour, to the heartfelt thankfulness of Calton, who saw in her an angel from heaven, sent to save the life of an innocent man.
It was at the conclusion of the trial; and, together with Madge, he had gone down to his office, when his clerk entered with a telegram. The lawyer opened it hastily, and, with a silent look of pleasure on his face, handed the telegram to Madge.
She, womanlike, being more impulsive, gave a cry when she read it, and, falling on her knees, thanked G.o.d for having heard her prayers, and saved her lover's life.
”Take me to her at once,” she implored the lawyer.
She was anxious to hear from Sal Rawlins' own lips the joyful words which would save Brian from a felon's death.
”No, my dear,” answered Calton, firmly, but kindly. ”I can hardly take a lady to the place where Sal Rawlins lives. You will know all to-morrow, but, meanwhile, you must go home and get some sleep.”
”And you will tell him?” she whispered, clasping her hands on Calton's arm.
”At once,” he answered promptly. ”And I will see Sal Rawlins to-night, and hear what she has to say. Rest content, my dear,” he added, as he placed her in the carriage, ”he is perfectly safe now.”
Brian heard the good news with a deep feeling of grat.i.tude, knowing that his life was safe, and that he could still keep his secret. It was the natural revulsion of feeling after the unnatural life he had been leading since his arrest. When one is young and healthy, and has all the world before one, it is a terrible thing to contemplate a sudden death. And yet, in spite of his joy at being delivered from the hangman's rope, there mingled with his delight the horror of that secret which the dying woman had told him with such malignant joy.
”I had rather she had died in silence than she should have bequeathed me this legacy of sorrow.”
And the gaoler, seeing his haggard face the next morning, muttered to himself, ”He war blest if the swell warn't sorry he war safe.”
So, while Brian was pacing up and down his cell during the weary watches of the night, Madge, in her own room, was kneeling beside her bed and thanking G.o.d for His great mercy; and Calton, the good fairy of the two lovers, was hurrying towards the humble abode of Mrs. Rawlins, familiarly known as Mother Guttersnipe. Kilsip was beside him, and they were talking eagerly about the providential appearance of the invaluable witness.