Chapter XIX.

Otago Witness, Volume 25, Issue 1004, 25 February 1871, Page 19

Chapter XIX.

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ITSPBET.* Old Daylight, accompanied by the Inspector, watched - for his own good reason, no doubt — for some time round Chesterton House.

It is not far from the most fashionable square in London, and it stands in a kind of a ring-fence of stone and brick wall ; so that no one could well leave it unobserved, while every one who approached could be well marked and watched.

When Mr. Roskell creaked forth, in the Scotch cap which the valets and stewards of the aristocracy much affect, he was conned and noted by a curious old gentleman who, in Hessian boots ard a spencer, seemed to be vastly interested in the upper windows of a house in the dull and aristocratic neighbourhood opposite. Mr. Roskell took no notice of him j but Mr. Tom Forster, whose time had come, was not sorry to see the steward stroll off for his morning's walk in the park.

It was the day after the dinner, and conversation following it, which Philip had had with his father.

The young man had slept but little, and wag pacing the room in which hung the portraits of his ancestors, the genealogical tree of the Stanfields, and the arms which Edgar Wade had so much admired. Philip was awaiting his father's appearance ; but the old lord, who had slept aslittleduringthenight,had,towards morning, fallen into a profound but uneasy sleep, in which the events of thirty years before—events seldom out of his mind— came back to him in dreams,

Suddenly, as Philip was abstractedly gazing at the polished swords hanging in then: rack, the door opened, and the valet, with a face of wonder— or, rather, of blank and unpleasant surprise— ushered in two gentlemen, who trod so closely on his heels that they seemed rather unwilling to let him get out of then* sight. " Lord Wimpole is at home," said the servant.

" That will do," said the shorter of the two strangers, with an extraordinary and precise rudeness, as the valet thought. " Now you can go. We shall not want anything. We have a coach outside."

"A coach, gentlemen!" said his lordship, with an uneasy surprise, as if he dreaded some new misfortune, " What is the matter ? Are any of my friends ill ?" "Pray don't alarm yourself, my lord," exclaimed the taller of the two, Mr. Inspector Stevenson ; while Old Forster, carefully putting the servant outside, shut the door, " I presume you are—" "Philip Dessceux Stanfleld, commonly called Lord Wimpole ?" ejaculated Old Daylight. " I am he, sir," returned Philip proudly ; forgetting, in the suddenness of the attack, the recent terrible disclosures. " Then you are our prisoner." " Upon what charge, gentlemen ?" " Only murder, my lord ; that's all," said Inspector Stevenson, with imperturbable coolness. "Don't be alarmed. Do not say anything to criminate yourself. We are police officers, and shall report every word. Take things coolly, and come along with us ; and we shall use no violence. We are always polite to gentlemen, when they behave as such."

And the cool Inspector held out the warrant signed by George Horton, one of hia Majesty's magistrates for the county of Middlesex, for Philip's inspection. Philip read the warrant, and his heart sank within him.

" How can I clear myself," he muttered, "from this evil thing ?" Then, lifting bin head, he asked, " Will you let me call my father P"

" Well, you had better not. Take what things you want with you, and come along with us. Lord bless you, it's nothing, if you can prove an alibi; and a nobleman like you can always do that. I should quietly resign myself to our hands, «ay nothing, come and hear the charge, and send for my solicitor: That's the cleverest way out of a nasty job, that I know of," said the Inspector, in a kindly way. Philip thought so too ; and walked into his own room, closely followed by the In. spector. " Can I not be here in private ?" he asked, as the strong hand of the policeman prevented the door from being shut in his face. "Well not exactly," returned Stevenson. "I don't want to intrude, my lord, nor to be rude— not I. It's not our way of doing things. You see when once I have my eye on you — you are my charge you see ; and I never let my eye off my charge, sleeping or waking, until I have put the charge in somebody else's charge. That's the law and the prophet's as regards charges ; aye, and very sensible, too." As Lord Wimpole said not a word, but merely dressed himself — he was deadly paleMr. Stevenson still continued his pleasing conversation, out of a good-natured wish to prevent his lordship being under any constraint. For the same reason he looked out of the window, and admired the portrait of the Countess of Chesterton, which he pronounced, with the air of a connoisseur, to be a " first-rate bit of painting," Mr. Stevenson's innocent prattle fell into dull ears. Philip wai at much beside himself aaifhehadbeenagirlofsixteen, The Inspector

—who, to do him justice, would have behaved as coolly and as considerately if he had been arresting a clerk for a vulgar forgery — every now And then threw in a remark, looking delicately out of the windows as Philip attired himself.

"Yes, we are very sensible vi criminal cases, except in the way of barristers. As a rule I don't much admire barristers: they make a deal too much fuss, and often upset a case— especially family barristers. Don't you employ one, my lord."

Philip started at this vulgar, friendly advice.

" If chancery tend equity, and all kinds o' law, were done down to, or rather up to, the criminal standard, this country would be all the better for it," said the Inspector, glancing at his prisoner, and seeing that his hand trembled as he tied his cravat, and that he was not quite ready. Then, after a pause — " There's no need to hurry, my lord. We never hurry people. Time goes fast enough with our customers. Yes, family barristers are troublesome. They don't know the practice of our courts, and they take liberties with the officers and magistrates, to the prejudice of the prisoners. Then they say too much. Now, the best Old Bailey man that I know— Mr. Sergeant Jawkins — can talk when he likes, and can be silent when he likes. Bless you, he had a rare case the other day. An old woman poisoned a hinfant, as plain as if I'd done it myself , ( I know ed it, the judge knowed it, and the jury knowed it. Well, what does Jawkins ? Why, he persuaded the jury in the beginning of his speech, which was most humoursome, it was, most humoursome—l'll just see what you take from that drawer, if you please. Oh t studs, is it ? Beg pardon ; all right I—most1 — most humoursome ; set us all a laughin'— that they, the jury knew what was right a deal better than judge or jury, or any one else. He assumed as his client was quite innocent o' course ; and after he had made us very merry, says he— 4 And for my unfortunate client— for she is unfortunate, to be innocently in such a position— what shall I say ? Nothin', absolutely nothin.' I leave her case, gentlemen o' the jury, to your common sense.' Thereon he throws down his papers, puts his hands in his wesldt holes, and smiles beneficently at the jury, They turns round in the box, and bring her in not guilty, of course. Ah ! Jawkins is your man, my lord." It was, perhaps, lucky for the good-natured Inspector that at that moment Old Forster knocked at the door.

" All right outside ?" asked Stevenson. " We're nice and ready now." And as the two walked out, Old Daylight, who had the blue serge bag of a lawyer under his arm, walked in. " Got what you want ?" asked Stevenson. Old Daylight nodded, with a knowing look. " My friend would just like to look round the apartment," said the Inspector, with much politeness. "We will step outside. He's a very gentlemanly man, and won't toss over the things. He'B getting up the case." " What case ?" asked Philip, wearily.

" Why, your case, o' course. He's got it in hand. Tm only a supernumerary. Bless you, he's very clever, and as harmless as a dove ; only I'd much rather have Old Daylight on my side than against me. That's my opinion. And now, my lord, we will go out. Mr. Forster will follow."

" Stay one moment," cried Philip, with a sudden pang, as he pressed his hand to his side. " You will let me write a letter ?"

" Provided I see it, my lord, and knows to whom it is going." Philip looked up, flushed at the insult. "It is a private letter to a young lady," he answered. "It cannot concern you." " That depends, my lord. I shall only look at it professionally." Philip saw that there was only one thing to do, and that was to submit. He sat down mechanically, and wrote a few words to Winnifred Vaughan, stating that he was accused of some dreadful crime, and showed the note to the police officer, who glanced over it and the address, and let his prisoner seal it and give it to a valet. Then — as Mr. Tom Forster was quite ready, and trotted into the room with a few small objects in his lawyer's blue moreen bag— the three walked coolly downstairs, where the valet was waiting, and ready to offer Lord Wimpole Ids hat and gloves, and then out into the courtyard, where a hackney coach, the panels of which blazed with the arms of some rich dowager in a gorgeous heraldic mantle, was waiting for them.

How quietly the whole thing was done. In the dramao of the period, the curtain would fall in the midst of a scene, the villain protesting his innocence, and a beautiful young lady, in a charming attitude, in a fainting fit, and in the arms of the friend of the hero. It was curious that Philip thought of this, with a smile ; and felt very thankful to Mr. Tom Forster and the Inspector for their kindness. As for those two estimable persons, they behaved to Lord Wimpole with much the same gentleness that they would have shown to the poorest culprit they ever arrested. The few words they exchanged as they were driven along bore no reference to the case in hand. Englishmen are not very demonstrative, and official Englishmen are wise in then* determined silence. What they have is to do, not to talk. The rumbling coach, creaked and rattled on in so quick a transit, that Philip had not recovered from his dazed dismay before he had descended from the crazy conveyance, and had passed into the private room, awaiting Mr. Horton. That gentleman was consulting his colleague, Mr. Boom, who had been seized with an industrious fit, and good-naturedly offered to relieve his colleague for several weeks.

He had been philsnthropically trying to persuade Mr. Horton that hall the crimes of the poor were owing to the?r bad lodgings and worse surroundings, and half apologizing for the easy way in which he dismissed those who were brought before him. " My dear Horton," he said, " if you and I were to live down one of those terrible alleys in thttry-laoe, with squalling children, and an untidy, utf&empt, and fractious wife, don't you think that we should be glad to escape from them into a public house ? I know that I should, I like my glass of wine now — I should be fond of my glass of gin then." " It is very possible," said Horton j " but poverty, which bring its trials, should bring its lessons. To a working man a momentary debauch is not an escape from misery : it rather binds him to it. The grog be drinks, which excites him for tbe moment, does not really exhilarate him. He ought to know this as well as I do. It maddens and poisons."

" Quite right," returned hia colleague. " All that is as plain as A, B, C. Adulterated gin maddens and excites : the man is a fool, a madman, under its influence. That's why 1 am lenient. "

" That's why I should be severe," said the other.

" Bad dwelling is the foundation to this miserable business," said Mr. Boom. " Bad wives and bad food the second step. General ignorance, ill-health, and discontent the next. And the whole is crowned by crime. Poor people ! who can condemn them ?" And here the magistrate took a gilt toothpick from his pocket, and, after meditatively using it, turned to speak to the clerk, who was making out certain depositions in some case which does not concern this novel.

Mr. Horton, unconvinced, was about to answer, when the door which led from the court to the magistrates' room opened, and the square, intellectual head of Inspector Stevenson, tightly fixed on to his broad shoulders and deep chest by a military collar of a blue frock coat, which made him look like a staff officer in undress, appeared at the door, and his lips were seen to articulate the name of Mr. Horton.

That gentleman at once arose and went to his Bummoner.

" We've got him, sir," said the Inspector, " and all right. He is in the private room, and it is wonderful what a cool hand he is. Old Daylight's right, for a sovereign. His lordship made no more of being arrested than I should of going out to breakfast."

This— said am whispered tone between the tyro doors of the short passage which led from the court to the private room — was intended to prepare the magistrate for his new charge. But it was not sufficient to prevent the good gentleman from experiencing a curious revulsion of feeling. Somehow or another, conscience seemed to whisper, "Do not try that man ; give over this business to your colleague You are not unbiassed." Then, again, old scraps of plays and poems would occur to him : " Murder most foul, as in the best it is, but this most foul ;" and then his own conscience would make common cause with Lord Wimpole.

Nothing of this struggle was seen on the magistrate's face. He walked quietly into the room, and was about to sit down at his table— his eyes were cast down upon the ground— when Lord Wimpole gladly, almost joyously, sprang up to shake hands with him. " Oh ! Mr. Horton," he said, "I am so glad to meet you I In this trouble it is quite refreshing to meet an old friend." The young man had stretched out his hand in the frankest and most jovial way. All his troubles seemed for the moment forgotten. Mr. Horton suddenly faced round, crossed his arms, and looked at Philip with the cold, meaningless stare that Englishmen can so well put on when they wish to be cruelly rude. •• My lord !" he said. And his voice, often so soft and musical, grated with a hard resonancy as he spoke. Lord Wimpole first turned red and then pale. Then, turning haughtily on his heel, he said—

"I forgot, Mr. Horton, or I would not have insulted you. I said we were old friends. I did not at once realise our altered stations. lam the prisoner and you are my judge.