Part 11 (1/2)

'Basil,' she whispered, 'don't you see the splendid, unequalled chance for an advertis.e.m.e.nt! I'll get up and make a speech, and say _I_ did it.

Of course they can't prove it, but it will set every one talking, and bring hundreds of pounds into the house every night.'

I now observed that Philippa had half slipped off her mantle and bonnet.

Beneath these coverings she was dressed in wig and gown, like Mrs.

Weldon in the photographs.

'For goodness' sake, Philippa, _don't!_' I whispered.

The clerk turned to William Evans, the prisoner at the Bar.

'Are you guilty, or not guilty?'

In the silence a cigarette-ash might have been heard to drop, if any one had been smoking.

The long silence was broken, but not by the prisoner.

By Philippa!

Rising to all her stately height, with her flowing robes around her, she stood at bay. Then her clear deep voice rang out:--

'My lord, I was the party that did it!'

'Order in the court! order in the court!' cried the ushers.

'I commit you! I commit you!' thundered Lord Justice Juggins. 'Take her away. Five years and hard labour.'

Struggling violently, Philippa was dragged away by the minions of the law.

I notice one visitor turn round, and gaze at the commotion.

It is Mrs. Thompson, the Bearded Woman.

Silence has scarcely been restored, when it is again broken.

A manly form rises. A deep voice exclaims:--

'My lord, the prisoner is innocent. _I_ am the person whom he is said to have murdered.'

The form, the voice--it is Sir Runan Errand!

Again I hear the sharp accents of Mr. Justice Juggins.

'Is this court a bear-garden or the House of Commons? Take that man out.

Give him five years and two dozen lashes.'

Scarcely had the court resumed its wonted aspect of business, scarcely had the prisoner again been asked to plead, when a shrill voice shattered the stillness.