Part 32 (1/2)

Maddison's occupation, was in court, and would swear that the stain in question was not there at that time. He mentioned these details first, he went on to say, but the more important part of his evidence had reference to these letters, and his subsequent action with regard to them. He would call attention to one of them, he remarked, producing it, and allow the bench to draw their own conclusions. He would read it to them, and they could then examine it for themselves.

The thin rustling sheet of foreign notepaper, which he held in his hand, was covered closely with delicate feminine handwriting, and emitted a faint sweet perfume. For the first time during the hearing of the case Bernard Maddison showed some slight emotion as the letters were handed about. But he restrained it immediately.

The sentence which Detective Robson read out was as follows:--

”Bernard, those who have sinned against their fellow creatures, and against their G.o.d, may surely be left to His judgment. The vengeance which seeks to take life is a cruel bloodthirsty pa.s.sion which no wrong can excuse, no suffering justify. Forgive me if I seem to dwell so much upon this. That terrible oath which, at his bidding, I heard you swear against Sir Geoffrey Kynaston rings ever in my ears!”

There were other sentences of a somewhat similar nature. As Mr. Thurwell listened to them he felt his heart sink. What could avail against such evidence as this?

There was no hesitation at all on the part of the magistrates. Bernard Maddison had pleaded ”not guilty,” but had declined to say another word. ”Anything there is to be said on my behalf,” he remarked quietly, in answer to a question from the bench, ”I will say myself to the jury before whom I presume you will send me.”

While the committal was being made out, Mr. Thurwell leaned over and whispered to him.

”Helen sends her love. I will arrange about the defence, and will try and see you myself before the trial.”

”You need send no lawyer to me,” he answered. ”I shall defend myself.”

Mr. Thurwell said no more. He was a little dazed by those letters, but he was not going to allow himself to be influenced by them, for his daughter's sake, as well as his own. He did not like to admit himself in the wrong, and he had made up his mind that this man was innocent.

Innocent he must therefore be proved. As to his defending himself, that was all nonsense. He would see to that. Dewes should be instructed.

The committal was read out, and Bernard Maddison was removed from the court. On the following day he was to be taken to York, there to be tried at the forthcoming a.s.sizes. Mr. Thurwell bade him keep up his courage in a tone which, though it was intended to be cheerful, was not particularly sanguine. There was but one opinion in the court, and despite all his efforts its influence had a certain effect upon him. But Bernard Maddison never carried himself more proudly than when he bowed to Lord Lathon, and left the court that morning.

At home Helen was eagerly waiting for the news. She had no need to ask, for her father's face was eloquent.

”Is it--very bad?” she whispered.

He looked away from her with a queer feeling in his throat. To see his daughter, who had always been so quiet, and self-contained, and dignified--his princess, he had been used to call her--to see her trembling with nervous fear, was a new and terrible thing to him, and to be able to offer her no comfort was worse still. But what could he say?

”The evidence was rather bad,” he admitted, ”and only a portion of it was produced. Still, we must hope for the best.”

”Please tell me all about it,” she begged, very quietly, but with a look in her white face which made him turn away from her with a groan. But he obeyed, and told her everything. And then there was a long silence.

”How did he look?” she asked, after a while.

”Very pale; but he behaved in a most dignified manner throughout,” he told her. ”He must be well born. I wonder what or where his people are?

I never heard of any of them. Did you?”

She shook her head.

”He told me once that he had no friends, and no relations, and no name save the one which he had made for himself,” she said. ”I don't know whether he meant that Maddison was not his real name, or whether he meant simply his reputation.”

”There must be people in London who know all about him,” Mr. Thurwell remarked. ”A man of his celebrity can scarcely conceal his family history.”

Helen had walked a little away, and was standing before the window, looking out with listless eyes.

”Father, I wonder whether Sir Allan Beaumerville has anything to do with this?” she said. ”Has he ever hinted to you that he suspected Mr.

Maddison?”