THE NOVELIST

Observer, Volume 2, Issue 31, 16 April 1881, Page 329

THE NOVELIST

HUNTED DOWN.

A NOVEL. Bt Adolphe Belot

CHAPTER XXVII.

The proceedings commenced at last in the Assize court the latter half of February, IS4S. At half-past nine the privileged persons, amongst whom were several ladies of the fashionable world, were admitted into the Court, and took their places belaud the seats reserved for the witnesses. The general public entered a short time afterwards, and found standing room in the enclosure appropriated to them. On the table, where the various articles to be put in evidence were generally placed, there were to be seen only a long knife and a red memorandum book, open at the page where Maurice Hardcastle had written a few words in his blood. About ten witnesses had been summoned by the Crown. There were none for the defence, liurritt having refused to name any to the barrister who appeared for him. The Court opened at a quarter past ten, the jury having been drawn by lot in the council chamber. Coutrary to the generally received rumour amongst the public, neither handcuffs nor a strait waistcoat had been put on Uurritt. Two policemen entered with Langlade and took their seats on either side of them. The Judge now informed Burritt that his indictment would be read, on which the prisoner shut his eyes. When the reading was finished, the witnesses were called upon to answer to their names, and on hearing that of Carroty Sal, Uurritt opened his eyes and turned pale, but did not move his head. The .Judge requested him to stand up again. " What for ?" asked Uurritt. " To reply to the questions which are put to you." "In that, case it would be useless, as I do not intend to reply," said Uurritt.

A murmur, repressed at once by a few Avords from the president, ran through the Court, the crowd beginning to see, perhaps, that the prisoner was not (juite so manageable as he appeared to be. " Prisoner at the bar," said the Judge, kindly, "I wish to point out to you that by persisting in your silence you will damage your cause in the eyes of the jury." "1 have confessed my crime," said Burritt. "What more is wanted?" "The Court -wishes to ascertain from your own mouth, without the necessity of relying absolutely on the evidence to be given by the witnesses, in what manner the crime was committed. I repeat, you can only secure the indulgence of the Court and the jury by deference to the customs in force here." "I do not ask the indulgence of any one," replied Burritt, without raising his voice. " Send me to the scaffold as soon as you can — that is all I want." We omit certain evidence, and pass on to the examination of Carrotty Sal. The arrival on the scene of this fresh witness will not add anything to our knowledge of the case, but it was destined to effect a very important change in the attitude of the prisoner, and to lead up to the remarkable incident which brought the trial to an unlooked-for conclusion. The prisoner, still preserving the same attitude, did not turn his head. His half-closed eyes did not open a whit wider, and it might have been supposed that he was as indifferent to this witness as to the others. Nevertheless an acute physiognomist would have detected certain significant indications. Burritt's brow contracted, the blood left his lips, and his fingers beat a devil's tattoo on the bench before him. " You know the prisoner?" asked the Judge, after the usual preliminary questions had been put and answered.

"Oh, yes, sir, very well. Very much too well," she added, smiling. "You will have the goodness to abstain from all comments," replied the Judge, severely^ "Do not forget that you are in a court, of justice, and that you have already appeared here on your own account. And now tell the Court all you know about the unhappy man whom your coquetry induced to visit you that evening." After having replied to all the questions put to her by the Crown Prosecutor; and having received from him a sharp but just reproof, returned to her scat. A bell rang ; an usher announced the entrance of the Court, and the trial was resumed. This time, as he entered the Court, the prisoner's iirst look was toAvards Carrotty Sal. Simultaneously he perceived the young man, with whom she appeared to be conversing with more and more familiarly. Burritt alone appeared unmoved. His eyes were lixed on Sal. Deeply enraged at the flirtation sbe was openly carrying on with the young man seated by her side, thoughts of vengeance ilitted through his excited brain, and exclaimed — : ' No ! 1 am not guilty !" The excitement amongst the audience was at its height. Two or three persons stood up, but the iirst words of the .Judge restored the calm i which, for a moment, bad been disturbed. "You are rather late," said he to the prisoner, "in telling us of your innocence. After having refused up to now to answer our questions, you may lie supposed to have reserved yourself for the creation of a grand effect ; and we have to beg of the gentlemen of the jury that they will be on their guard. If you' are innocent, why did you not say so before ?" [ "Zounds!" exclaimed Burritt, "because I thought I was guilty !" "You believed yourself guilty!" said the Judge, in astonishment. The prisoner — "Yes, I killed a man, but I did not kill Maurice Hardcastle." The Judge — " What makes you think so ?" The prisoner—" Everything' which that gentleman (pointing to the Attorney-General) has said. He spoke for an hour of the blood

■which welled out (if the victim's wound, of the knife with which he was struck, of a study, of a bedroom — in .short, of a whole heap of tilings which cannot he true, beeau.se it was with my list — -yes, with this nst here— that I knocked the man down, and I did it under the gate of a court-yard, and not in a study." The Judge- — " Was it in the St. John Wood road that you killed the man you mention ?" The prisoner — " Yes, hut Ido not know the number." The Judge — "At what o'clock was it ?" The prisoner — •" It must have been about ten at night." The Judge— "And that was in October?" The prisoner — " The end of October." "Then," said the Judge, "you have just pronounced your own doom. No other man but Maurice Hardcastle was murdered in the St. John Wood road in October." At this juncture a member of the jury rose and asked the Judge whether he might make an observation. " Speak, sir," was the reply. "It is my duty," .said the juryman, "to call attention to a circumstance which has just struck me, and of which the Court is in ignorance. In the month of October last, a few days before the murder in the St. John's Wood, a friend of mine was found dead under the gateway of a court-yard in that street. He bore upon him no trace of any wound which could lead to a suspicion of foul play, and it was supposed that, as he was of an exceptionally sanguine habit of body, he had been seized with a lit of apoplexy. I ought to add that a large black mark was noticed on his left temple. I was the first to entertain and express the idea that my friend, in falling, had come iv contact with the pavement. I can now see that the prisoner's formidable fist could, by a blow on the temple, have produced the mark I have alluded to, and so have been the cause of death."

These Avords, uttered by an apparently respectable man, whose position as a juryman gave him, at the time, considerable weight, produced a great effect upon the audience. Everybody turned to converse with his neighbour. By degrees, order was restored, and the Attorney-general addressed the Court as follows — "Your honours, on account of the new light thrown upon this case, and the opinion to which a member of the jury has unconsciously given utterance with regard to the trial on hand, 1 beg to apply that it may be postponed to another sitting." The judges retired to deliberate, and on their return, after a very short absence, made the following announcement— "The Court, after mature consideration, and in accordance with the application of the at-torney-general, postpones theca.se until another sitting. Remove the prisoner." The Court adjourned, and everyone went away in a state of the greatest excitement. On the morning following the sitting of the Court, Cooke presented himself at about ten o'clock at Eleanor's. On this occasion, however, instead of talcing every precaution to pass unnoticed by the people of the house, he purposely attracted the attention of the porter, and slowly went up the main staircase. On reaching the floor where Eleanor resided, Cooke rang without any hesitation. "I wish to see your mistress," said he to Mary, who looked at him in astonishment. " If you will walk into the drawing room, sir, I will inform my mistress, who is not dressed." "When fairly in the room where he had not set foot for so long, and of which he had only caught an occasional glimpse through the glazed door, a feeling of tenderness came over him. Madame Hardcastle made her appearance, and, without .asking Cooke to take a seat, said to him — " I did not expect to see you again." " Madame," replied Cooke drily, "1 suddenly ceased to set; you because my mission with you was at an end. Chance enabled me to discover the murderer of your husband ; I succeeded in capturing him .and handing him over to the authorities unaided, and your assistance, which was so valuable and so necessary to me so long as that BroAvnpath was concerned, became useless." Every one of these -words wounded Eleanor to the quick, and she replied tartly — "Well, then, if my assistance is no longer of use, why—" "Why," said he, completing his sentence, "have 1 the temerity to present myself to-day? The answer is simple, and you may learn it if you wil still permit me, madame, to sit down for a moment." .She made no reply, but, appreciating the lesson thus given her, she took a seat. " You were present at the trial yesterday?" asked Cooke brusquely, and determined to open the engagement. " A portion of it." replied Eleanor. " Then, madame, you are not acquainted with the closing scene." "I am ignorant of it ; and if you are here to describe it you may spare yourself the trouble." "Very well, madame, ' I will not tell you what the end was since you think you know it. I will merely ask your permission to relate [ certain circumstances Avhich came to light during the trial after you left the Court For instance," continued Cooke, speaking still more slowly, "it was proved beyond a doubt that your husband had never spoken to the woman called Carrotty Sal." "All!" said Eleanor, turning as white as a ghost. The first blow struck by Cooke was a terrible one. She regained her calmness, and, turning towards Cooke, asked — "How did this further information come to light ?" " It was not Bun-it who killed him !" replied Cooke. "Not he ! What do you mean. "It was a case of mistaken identity. He had killed a man whose name he did not know, •and he imagined it was your husband." " So you see we have to begin again." She raised her head quickly. "To begin what again?" "The' murderer is not yet discovered, and still a murderer there must be. We must recommence the search." "That is a matter for the law to deal with," said she curtly. " I have nothing whatever to do with it." "You are soon discouraged, madame," remarked Cooke. She replied — "Spare me your remarks, sir, I beg." "Madame," he continued, "if I deplore the discouragement which seems to have taken possession of you, it is because I see our interests endangered by it." " What do you mean by that?" "I expected undoubtedly that you would assist me, as formerly, in my search. I was clumsy enough, I admit, to be led astray on a false scent ; but I come back to my first idea, which, assuredly, was a good one." "Your first!" and as she said it the colour fled from her cheeks, for his meaning began to dawn upon her. "Yes, madame, my first ; seeing that Burritt is not the culprit, I have every reason to suspect Brownpath, as I did from the first." 1 ' Your suspicion can never reach him o£ whom you speak. " " They reached him tolerably well formerly," was the cruel reply. "In what respect, may'l ask, has the sftuation changed ?" " It is changed," she exclaimed indignantly, "he is an honourable man, I have learned to know him, to essteem him. Pollute him no longer with your suspicions !" " ( Jo !" Cooke cast down his eyes and obeyed. When he reached the door, she thought herself rid of him, and sinking in an arm-chair, she exclaimed—" Whither have I been brought? What country is this where even at home a man can be murdered and a woman insulted ?" She was sublime in her indignation. Her luxuriant black hair which, in her haste to see the detective, she had scarcely given herself time to coil round her shapely head, came undone, and fell over her quivering shoulders. Her bosom heaved under the lace which scarce

covered it. Anger lent warmth to her cheeks and colour to her lips, and her open mouth, from which a sigh escaped, revealed her perfect teeth. Cooke, who had stopped, lost in contemplation of her, had never seen her so lovely. He could no longer restrain his imagination ; wrought up to a pitch of excitement and yet unsatiated, in a moment he lost his head, sprang towards Eleanor, took her face between liis hands to prevent her avoiding him, and imprinted a burning kiss on her lips. It was perhaps the- first kiss he had ever given a woman. She shuddered at the odious touch, and then wrenching herself free from his embrace by a sudden struggle, she struck Cooke in the face, and rushed from the room in a state of distraction. As soon as Cooke's departure, and Eleanor had recovered from her indignation, she, on a moment's reflection, came to an energetic determination and sat down at her desk. "Do not come and see me during the day," she wrote to Brownpath, "but be here at seven o'clock precisely. I have a great project to unfold to you." "Well, what have you to tell me ?" said he, "what is the great project you mentioned in yotir letter ? "I do not wish to remain any longer exposed to the dangers to which one is liable here. I leave to-morrow. " " Let us go," said Brownpath. " You will follow me ?" " Can you ask me such a question?" he exclaimed, kissing her hand. She looked earnestly at him, read in his eyes all the love he felt for her, and said to him — " Sit down there. I have something serious to say to you." " I am all attention, dearest," said Brownpath, sitting down by her side on the sofa. "I have," said she, "committed a grave fault, one still greater than I imagined it to be. I have just wept bitterly OA r er it, but Ido not "wish to throw the responsibility of it upon you, and it shall no longer come between us. I trust myself entirely to your love, and I am convinced that it will undertake the task of making me forget the past." [To he coiifuiHed.J