The Penalty of a Crime.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 6, 6 February 1892, Page 122

The Penalty of a Crime.

BY

WILLIAM BELWORTHY,

, WELLINGTON

(ALL HIGHTS RESERVED.)

CHAPTEK XIV

' Nay ! it should not be so hard To grant me my request ? Albeit he’s not my husband.'

♦'•'W-tL 'IM

T was late that same evening before SquireOakfield returned to the Grange, and learning from the butler who opened the door to hint that his daughters had not yet retired to rest, but were, with Dr. and Mrs Oakfield, in the drawingroom awaiting bis return, he requested the man to inform Miss Constance that if she

.Miss « oiisianve umi 11 Nit were well enough he would like to see her for a few moments in the library. In obedience to the summons Constance came in, looking slightly paler than usual, but with such an expression of confidence and trust in her eyes that the Squire wished his unpleasant task well over. ‘ You wished to speak to me in private, papa?’ she asked, questioningly. ‘Well, here lam at your service. You need not fear another exhibition of weakness on my part,’ she added, as her father hesitated. • I am afraid I was partly overcome by the excessive heat this afternoon, as 1 do not remember ever before to have made such a

renieniuer — Stupid of myself. But tell me, papa, your news concerns Gerald, does it not?’ ‘ Yes,' replied the Squire ; ‘ but I am afraid, Constance, lam not the bearer of very good news, and yet ’ ‘ Papa,’ interrupted Constance, ‘ please to tell me everything. Laura has informed me that it is quite true that Gerald has been arrested—it is not a nice word certainly—but of course the police have made an egregious blunder, and equally, of course, a slight investigation will be sufficient to ensure his discharge. I imagine that the £IOO reward which you offered, and the additional £IOO offered by the Government for the apprehension of the real murderer of Mr Hixon, has turned the brain of the official who had especial charge of the case, and in his anxiety to obtain the money he has, as 1 have said, committed an almost inexcusable blunder, for which he may get the reward his cupidity merits, though scarcely the one he expects. Are you not also of the same opinion, papa?’ * Yes, Constance, 1 feel certain there has been a mistake made, still I am afraid—very much afraid that Gerald Olphert will require all the legal assistance he can possibly procure to pull him safely through this difficulty. The Squire watched his daughter rather anxiously as he made this statement, but beyond a slight shrinking movement she made no sign. At its conclusion, however, she said, ‘ Yon surely do not mean to say that they would dare to detain Gerald, to ‘try’ him, as it is termed. Why, papa, the thing is ridiculous, preposterous!’ but although she tried to speak bravely, her voice faltered, and it was easy to see that the Squire’s wordsand manner had strongly affected her. . .

‘ I regret exceedingly, Constance, the anomalous position in which this unhappy affair has placed us all, but although the evidence against Gerald is almost purely circumstantial, yet, he will, as I have informed you, need all the legal assistance he cau get. I should prefer not to say any more on the subject now, but thought I had better let you know the exact position to night, as 1 shall be away early’ tomorrow morning. Do not unnecessarily distress yourself with regard to what I have told you, but believe me that every effort will be ma<le to clear Gerald, and we must hope to have him about again shortly. ‘ Papa, answer me one question. You do not doubt <Jerald's innocence ?’ ‘ No, Constance, 1 do not.' ‘ Thank you, papa,' and she gave him such a smile of confidence that he felt it would go very hard with his favourite daughter should Gerald Olphert fail to clear himself of the grave charge brought against him. ‘ Then you will grant my request, will you not, papa? I wish you to drive me into Finchley to morrow to—to the place where < Jerald is staving. No, do not refuse me,’ as tne Squire shook his hear!,’ ‘ for 1 must see him. I know be is innocent, but I wish to tell him so myself. Oh, never mind what Mrs Grundy may say, papa. If you accompany me what objection can anyone take ?’

• 1 am sorry, Constance, to be compelled to oppose your wishes, but under the circumstances my duty is obvious. Nobody will be better pleased than myself if Gerald can clear himself of any knowledge of the heinous offence with which he stands charged, and I intend rendering him all the aid 1 possibly can, but I cannot allow my daughter’s name to be bandied about in connection with his, as is certain to Ire the case if you act in the manner you suggest. A little consideration will, I feel sure, convince you of the prudence of my decision, ami I must beg of you to do nothing to compromise yourself and if Gerald Olphert is the man I take him to be, he will thoroughly endorse my action. I'ntil this case i- cleared up, I hope you will avoid attempting to obtain an interview with your lover, for to adopt such a course, although it might in the eyes of a few love lorn maidens savour of romantic, yet in the opinion of all sensible men and women your action would be considered, to say the least of it, quixotic, and, pardon me, Constance, if I arid that to some it might even appear unmaidenly, and my daughter has too much self respect and common sense to so

endauger her reputation, and will surely object to wear her heart on her sleeve, for every daw in Finchley to peck and rend. ’ * Papa,' replied Constance, and though her voice trembled, her eyes met his steadily and firmly, * I have listened patiently to all you have said, and I feel there is a great deal of truth in your remarks. When I said I must see Gerald I spoke as my heart rather than my head dictated. I thank you for appealing to my intelligence also. Much as I would like to see Gerald and personally express my sympathy for and trust in him, I have yet no desire to in anyway minister to the insatiable appetites of the scandalloving gossips of Finchley or Brightstone, and I feel sure that Gerald himself would not desire it either. But to let him face all this humiliation without either seeing him or writing him a word of cheer, why, it is asking me to make a sacrifice of all I hold most sacred in woman. Hear me out, papa,’as the Squire made a motion as if he would interrupt her. ‘ You may call it romantic, quixotic, or what you will, but on this one point I remain firm. So long as Gerald raises no objection I shall write to him, and I do sincerely hope that this unhappy affair will soon be settled to the satisfaction of all concerned. Of one thing I am quite certain, Gerald knows no more of the author of this dastardly ontrage than you or I, and I feel more than ever convinced that some enemy has been endeavouiing to make capital out of the false position in which Gerald was unfortunately placed with regard to the deceased gentleman, Mr Dixon. I trust that the blow will recoil on the heads of the agitating parties. But you have not informed me whether or not you saw (Jerald to night ?’ ‘I have seen him, Constance, but would rather not say any thing more about the matter to-night.' ‘ But tell me, papa, was he well ? and did he send anything—l mean any message for me?' • Yes !’ replied her father, producing a letter from his coat pocket. ‘ I was not quite sure whether I should be doing right by refusing to bring it to you, but at last I decided to accept the responsibility, and I hope you will await further developments before persisting to correspond, under the present circumstances, with Gerald Olphert,’ and with these words the Squire bade her good night, and then left the room.

Once more left alone, Constance tore open the envelope of the letter which she had received, and there learned that her lover had been arrested at the village of Fairfax, twelve miles from Brightstone, whither he had gone to transact some legal business, and the letter was dated Finchley Gaol.

’lt is perfectly unnecessary for me to tell you. my darling,' wrote Gerald. • that I am entirely innocent in thought or deed of the awful crime with which I am charged, yet I dare not disguise the fact. Constance, that a chain of circumstantial er idence has been woven against me which I may find some difficulty in breaking, although I hope, eventually, to be enabled to clear my reputation of the slightest suspicion of stain. My private opinion is that the police, for want of a better clue, have fixed on the facts that I was known to have spoken sharply to Nir Dixon on the evening of the ball: that I was the last iterson (so far as can be ascertained, in whose company he was seen from the time he left the ball-room till he met his death; that I was discovered by your father s keeper holding up the head of the dying man : that I sent the keeper for assistance, and that when he returned Nir Dixon was dead. There are a few other facts which tend to criminate me in the eyes of the police, and they have thought it their duty to arrest me. Ido not write this to distress you. my dear, but simply to inform you of the true state of the case, as I w as afraid the news might otherwise be conveyed to you through some distorting medium, and you would be needlessly alarmed. The position is horribly humiliating, but I hope to be free to see you again shortly. I have engaged Mr Edgbaston. Q.C., to conduct the ease on my behalf, and you need be under no apprehension as to the result. lam sending this by the Squire, and must possess my soul in patience till the trial is concluded, as perhaps it will be best for all concerned that I should not see you again till that time. You will not, I feel sure, misunderstand the motive prompting me to take this course, and I know you will trust me through good report and evil report. The Judge arrived to-day. and the Court sits to morrow, so you will not be kept long in suspense. With best of love to your dear self, hoping soon to see you again. I am. yours lovingly. Gerai.p.

CHAPTER XV

' Which of you, being pent from liberty As I am now. would not entreat for life.' King Richard 111

The day appointed foi the trial at length came round. It was a lovely day towards the close of the month of J une. Inside the Court house at Finchley a crowd of eager, excited men and morbidly curious women, had assembled from an earlyhour. Streams of vehicles with their living freights had poured into Finchley from Brightstone and the surrounding districts, and the inn-keepers had been taxed to the utmost to provide accommodation for man and beast. It was rumoured that the Judge would take his seat on the Bench at precisely ten o’clock, and that the Dixon murder case would be at once proceeded with. A special jury had been empanelled, and now, as the hands of the Court-tiouse clock point to live minutes from ten, the impatience of the closelypacked crowd manifests itself by a swaying to and fro, by the shuttling of feet, and a subdneu murmur of many voices. Already the heat is becoming almost unendurable, but no one dreams of budging an inch from the position taken up, unless it be to procure one nearer to the prisoner’s dock, wheie they would have a better opportunity of studying closely the physiognomy of the principal actor in the drama —the prisoner himself. The Judge was punctual. Exactly at ten o’clock the door liehind the Judge’s chair opened, and His Lordship took his seat. There was the sound of papers rustling, as the lawyeis gatherer! their notes together, a slight sensation amongst the crowd as a constable called out, * Crown versus Olphert,' and then another door opened, and (Jerald Olphert, closely attended by two warders, entered the

Court, and took his stand in the small dock partitioned off for prisoners. Every eye was turned in his direction, and he was painfully conscious of their gaze, but though his face was a trifle paler than usual, he certainly had not the appearance of a man guilty of the awful crime for which be was that day to be tried. A close observer might, however, have noticed a slight twitching of his underlip, and an unwonted light in his clear brown eyes, which seemed to indicate repressed emotions, and were, indeed, unmistakeable proofs that he was by no means callous or indifferent to the danger of the position he occupied. He was dressed in a light tweed suit, and with the exception of a signet ring on the third finger of his left hand, his person was devoid of jewellery of any kind. Much sympathy was felt for him, for his genial manners and sterling social qualities had secured for him many friends and admirers among all classes of society in Finchley and Brightstone, and scarcely a man or woman in Court but hoped that the trial would result in a verdict favourable to the prisoner. The case had already been formally stated before the local magistrate, and sufficient evidence adduced to justify him, as he believed, in committing Gerald Olphert to take his trial at the coming Assizes, which, as it so chanced, meant only a delay of another day.

CHAPTER XVI. • What is my offence f Where is the evidence that doth accuse me I There was a hush of expectation as the counsel for the prosecution rose to open the case for the Crown. Not in a lengthy or eloquent oration, but briefly and concisely the learned gentleman went over the facts in connection * with the case, as gathered by the police, and already known to the reader. The silence in the Court was accentuated as a policeman called ‘ Janies Fenton !’ and in obedience to the summons Squire Oakfield’s head keeper stepped into the witness box, and taking the Bible in his hand, kissed it, and swore to ‘ tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,’ etc. In reply to questions from counsel, he stated that ‘ on the morning of the supposed murder he was on the watch in the Oakfield preserves, at a spot situated about a quarter of a mile distant from the Lodge, where he resided with his wife and children, and about eight hundred yards from the old stone - quarries. One of his men was posted within about a dozen yards of him, whilst two more under-keepers were on watch in another part of the grounds. He left his cottage at about eleven p.m., and at about two minutes past two o'clock he heard a shot tired from the direction of the Finchley Road. He was quite certain as to the time, as just before the shot was tired he heard the stable clock strike two. The clock mentioned was situated in a small tower over the stables some distance in the rear of the Grange, and on a still night, such as the night in question, could be heard as it struck the hours very distinctly for a considerable distance. The clock did not strike the quarters or halves, only the hours. Was not very much surprised at hearing the report of a firearm, as just recently there had been several daring raids made on the Squire’s pheasants and hares, presumably by some noted London poachers. At any rate, some of these gentlemen had been seen about the district a few days previously, and the poaching Lad taken place after their ai rival, but so cleverly-had they arranged and carried out their programme, that up to the present time they had successfully resisted all attempts at capture. Was quite certain that not more than two or three minutes could have elapsed between the striking of the clock and the report of the firearm. Immediately on hearing the shot, he and the man on dutyin his proximity, hurried cautiously in the direction of the sound, and just before reaching that part of the estate leading off on to the main road, their attention was arrested by a groan, which seemed to come from a human being in great pain. There was just enough light from the moon to enable him to see, though somewhat indistinctly, objects within twenty or thirty yards of him, and to his astonishment and dismay he discovered Mr Olphert, kneeling on the ground, and supporting the head of another gentleman who appeared to be wounded. He asked Mr Olphert what had happened, and that gentleman replied “ I know no more about it than you do, Fenton. I heard a shot fired from that direction’'—

pointing to a fir plantation near the spot where we then were—“and hurrying up I found this gentleman lying on the ground and bleeding from a wound in the head.” In answer to further questions, the witness went on to state that he did not stop to examine the wounded man, but, in obedience to Mr Olphert’s request, made the best of his way to the Giange to alarm the Squire and his guests, and to procure assistance. Saw no gun or weapon of any description near the The report was not a veryloud one, and might have been caused by the firing of a revolver. Searched the spot at daylight next morning, but without discoveiing any clue. Did not for a moment suspect Mr Olphert. Had always found Mr Olphert to be a thorough gentleman in every sense of the word. Saw no one else but the underkeeper and the two gentlemen in the wood that night. Recognised the revolver produced as belonging to the prisoner. That gentleman had left it with him with instructions to clean the same, and return in the course of the week if possible. The weapon had been handed to him (witness) on the day preceding the murder. Last saw it in his own room at the lodge at about a quarter to eleven on the evening of the ball. It was on a shelf, and a packet containing some revolver cartridges was lying alongside it. No one but himself was in the habit of using the room. The room was a small one, and adjoining the kitchen. The outer door fastened with a patent lock, and .when pulled smartly would lock itself without the aid of a key. Had so locked it on the evening in question. The room was used by him when cleaning his own or Squire Oakfield’s guns, or whenever he had any little odd job to do. There were several other weapons in the room besides the revolver. Always kept the key of this room on a bunch with other keys. Had it in his pocket on the night in question. Sometimes had occasion to return to the room again before finally coming ofl duty in the morning. Invariably entered by the back entrance in order to avoid disturbing his wife. When be returned at daylight on the morning of Mr Dixon's death he went round by the rear of the lodge, and on arriving at the gun-room was about to fit the key in the lock, when he was startled to observe that the door was. slightly ajar. Suspected poachers. Pushed open the door, gave a hurried examination of the room, and was agreeably surprised to find that apparently nothing was missing. A closer exaini-

nation, however, disclosed the fact that the revolver belonging to Mr Olphert was missing from its place on the shelf, where he had last seen it before going on duty the previous night. Searched the room thoroughly, but could find no trace of the missing revolver. Heard his wife moving about the house, so went in and informed her as briefly as possible of the facte that Mr Dixon had been found dead, shot through the temple, that murder was suspected, and that Mr Olphert’s revolver had disappeared from the gun-room during the night. Informed her that upon his return in the early morning he had found the door open. Questioned his wife as to whether she had heard footsteps near the back of the house during the night, and she replied in the negative, but in answer to further questioning, much to his astonishment and dismay', his wife stated that while sitting up with our y’oungest child, who was ailing, she had taken a lamp into the front room to get something which she needed, when she distinctly heard a footstep on the gravel outside, and upon drawing aside the window blind she saw, by the light of the full moon, the figure of a gentle man coming up the garden path leading to the front door of the Lodge. Before she could reach the door, a voice which she recognised as that of Mr Olphert, called out, “ Is that you, Fenton 1" His (witness’) wife at once opened the door, and in reply to the gentleman’s question informed him that I had gone on night duty, and in all probability would not return till five or six o’clock. Mr Olphert apologized for disturbing her, mentioning that as he was passing the Lodge on his way home from the Grange he had noticed the light in the room, and knowing that the keeper (meaning witness) occasionally went on night-duty, had imagined that the light was carried ty him, so thought he would just tap at the window and inquire if his (the gentleman’s) revolver was ready, and, in the event of the weapon not being ready, he had intended asking the keeper to retain it till the end of the week, as he (Mr Olphert) had some legal business to transact outside Finchley, and he would be absent from home for some days. The gentleman otiered this explanation—so Mrs Fenton thought—by way of apology for his intrusion, and she (Mrs Fenton) was about to make some reply, when her sick child gave a cry of pain, and begging Mr Olphert to excuse her, and requesting that he would step into the kitchen for a few moments, Mrs Fenton ran to attend to her child. The gentleman, probably thinking that he might be able to render some service to the child, obeyed Mrs Fenton’s request, and walked into the kitchen. When his (witness’) wife had attended to the child’s wants she returned to the kitchen and found Mr Olphert standing by the fireplace. The fireplace would be about three or tour yards from the gun room. His wife was absent from the kitchen only a few minutes. Mr Olphert could have gone into the room and taken possession of the weapon before Mrs Fenton returned, but he must have done it very quickly, at least so he (witness) gathered from his wife s statement. Mr Olphert’s manner did not appear confused whenMrsFentonreturnedtothekitchen, and shortly afterwards the gentleman said good-night, after making a few kindly inquiries regarding the nature of our boy’s illness. Witness’ wife stood at the front door for a moment or two after wishing the gentleman “ Goodnight,” and saw him go down the garden and turn towards the Lodge gates. It was bright moonlight at the time. She heard the gates swing back, as if the gentleman had just passed through, and just at that moment the stable clock struck two. As it finished striking witness’ wife closed the door, went into the house, and shortly afterwards retired to rest. When informed of Mr Dixon’s death and of the missing revolver, Mrs Fenton was considerably agitated. She was in a delicate state of health at the time, and has since been confined to her bed, being, to all appearance, utterly prostrated. The medical gentleman who has visited her states that she is suffering from a severe shock to the nervous system, and is at present in a critical condition. Her deposition has been taken. That is all I know of the case,’ and as James Fenton left the witness box the friends of the prisoner realized that the story they had just heard would, if not refuted, form a rather strong link in the chain of circumstantial evidence against him, and whilst they never for one moment questioned the innocence of their friend, spite of the fact that appearances were so much against him, yet they knew that, to satisfy the demands of the law, strong rebutting evidence or special pleading, or the two combined, would be required to bring him unscathed through the ordeal. The next witness called for the prosecution was the underkeeper, who was on duty with James Fenton on the evening in question, but he simply corroborated the statements made by the previous witness. At this stage of the proceedings a deposition signed and attested by Mary Fenton, wife of James Fenton, gamekeeper, was read by counsel, and afterwards handed over for the inspection of Judge and jurymen, but the information contained in the document threw no fresh light on the case. Major Stuart and several other gentlemen were also called, and these reluctantly give evidence as to the quarrel in the ball room between the prisoner and the late Mr Dixon. It was also elicited in cross examination that the pistol produced had been seen in the possession of the prisoner the day preceding the murder, there being a shooting party in the Grange grounds on that date, and Dr. Oakfield having wagered tho prisoner that he (the doctor) would hit a certain target at a distance of one hundred and twenty yards, by the aid of his breechloader more times than would the prisoner at half the distance with the revolver. The target had been a small one and Mr Olphert had managed to hit the mark five times, as against three for Doctor Oakfield. All the witnesses could not but admit that the weapon used on that occasion was identical with the one produced in Court. Detective Flint, of Scotland Yard, was next placed in the witness box. He remembered the day following the murder. Was instructed by his chief to proceed to Finchley to investigate. Deposed to visiting the spot where the murder had taken place. Made a thorough search, but found no clue till he and Sergeant Grey, of the local police force, between them ‘dragged’ the lake near the spot, when they succeeded in bringing up a revolver containing six chambers. On examination he found that five of the chambers were still loaded, while the remaining barrel was empty. Had since ascertained that the revolver was the property of the prisoner at the bar. The lake in which the weapon was found was only about twenty yards distant from the spot where the prisoner and the murdered man were discovered by the two gamekeepers. The bnllet extracted from the temple of

the murdered man was of the same size and make as those found in the other five chambers ot the revolver. A gold watch and chain, some bank notes and loose change, as well as sundry other articles had been found on the body of the victim. Had cross questioned the two game-keepers about their knowledge of the murder, and their movements since had been closely watched, but he was satisfied they knew no more of the affair than they had already made known. Had made an examination of the gun-room at the Lodge. There was no indication of the lock having been tampered with. Was of opinion that whoever entered the room after the game keeper’s absence on the evening mentioned must have done so in the ordinary way. What he meant by this was, that either the keeper when leaving the room had omitted to ascertain that the door was securely fastened, or else that some person or persons had entered bymeans of a duplicate key. Whilst searching amongst some bushes that grew alongside the gun-room he (the detective) had discovered a small pocket book, which, upon examination was found to contain some memoranda of some betting transactions. There was no name or anything else in the book to indicate to whom it belonged. The writing in the book had been examined by experts, and had been compared with that of a large number of persons, but up to the present the writing hail not been identified as being that of any person known to the police, and so far threw no fresh light on the case. The book itself showed no signs of having been exposed for any great length of time. Might have been dropped there by the person who entered the gun-room on the morning of the murder. Had compared the writing in the book with letters, etc, of the prisoner’s, but could trace no resemblance. Had also found marks of footprints near the spot where he picked up the pocket book, and had measured the same and compared them with boots belonging to Gerald Olphert anil the two keepers, but the marks did not correspond. From information received hehad learned that a man had called ata public house near theentrance to the villageof Fernham, about twelve miles from Finchley, at about seven o’clock on the morning of the murder, and had ordered a glass of brandy and water, and had also purchased some sandwiches, which he put in his pocket when leaving the premises. Inter viewed landlady of said public house, but her description of the man was too imperfect to afford any clue. She had only noticed that he was, apparently a young man, and that he looked as though he had slept out that night, and that he appeared to be in a somewhat excited frame of mind. Had also ascertained that a stranger had purchased a through ticket to London at a small station a few miles further on, and had left by the early train. Had not yet been able to trace the whereabouts of this man. The prisoner had been ‘shadowed ’ since the date of the murder, but the police had not been able to produce any additional evidence against him. The evidence forthcoming was purely circumstantial. The prisoner’s movements since the murder would not appear to have been conducted with any attempt at secrecy, but just recently he had ascertained that he (the prisoner) was anticipating taking a passage to Australia, so after consulting his chief the witness was instructed to take out a warrant for the arrest of Mr Gerald Olphert, charging him on suspicion with the murder of Francis Dixon. When charged with the crime prisoner at first appeared astounded, and then became indignant, but offered no resistance. The learned counsel for the defence here intimated that he should require to put a few questions to this witness at a later stage of the proceedings. Detective Flint vacated the witness box, his place being taken by the old dame who kept the public house, called the ‘ Fernham Arms.’ In answer to questions from counsel she stated that her name was Margaret Dynevor, that though her sight was not so good as it used to be, she could still see very well, but was a trifle hard of hearing. She would be seventy-eight next Michaelmas if she was spared. Had been landlady of the ‘ Fernham Arms ’ ever since her husband was drowned at sea nearly thirty years ago. Remembered the morning of the murder, also remembered that a man had called at the public-house in the early morning, and had asked for a glass of brandy and water. Noticed that he seemed very much put out about something, and that his band shook when he lifted the glass to his mouth. Looked as if he might have slept out all night, or been drinking heavily the night before. Was certain as to the date when the man called, though could not swear as to the exact time in the morning. Was not particularly good at remembering dates usually, but the murder had fixed this particular date in her mind. The man had no beard so far as she could remember, and appeared to be well dressed. Did not remember to have seen him before. Was not certain she should know him again. The next witness called was the railway porter at the small station of Wickenham, about three miles from Fern ham. He remembered the morning of the 25th, the date of the murder. Was on the platform at the Wickenham Rail-way-station on the morning in question. Was getting some luggage ready for the 7 a.m. express train, when he was accosted by a gentleman, who inquired as to the time the next up train left. Informed him that there was one due in a few minutes, which would leave at 7 o’clock. It then wanted about fifteen minutes to seven by the railway clock ; noticed that the man looked agitated, but did not attach any importance to the fact. Did not think the gentleman had any luggage with him. The express came in shortly afterwards, and he did not see the gentleman again. Had not, to the best of his knowledge, ever seen the gentleman before. As nearly as he could remember the gentleman was dressed in a dark tweed suit and wore a hard hat. The railway passenger-book was here produced in Court, proving that a second class single ticket to London had been issued on the morning of the 25th. Only one through ticket had been issued on the morning in question. At this stage of the proceedings the learned counsel for the defence requested that Detective Flint should be recalled. Upon resuming his position in the witness box, the detective was subjected to a searching cross-examination by the learned counsel, but without materially affecting the evidence already given. The object of the learned gentleman, however, appeared to be not so much to disprove the evidence brought forward as to point out to the jury the strong presumption that some verson or persons other than hie client had l«een implicated in the murder of Mr Francis Dixon, and his cross-examination of the detective all led up to this theory. Dr. Oakfield and his father, the Squire, also gave evi-

dence with respect to following the gamekeeper to the scene of the catastrophe, with the details of which the reader is already acquainted. This closed the case for the S rosecution, and the Court adjourned till the following ay. On the Court re-opening the next morning, the learned counsel for the defence called Major Stuart, Squire Oakfield, and several other gentlemen, who each swore as to the kindly disposition of the prisoner at the bar, and stated that since the unhappy occurrence he (the prisoner) bad at all times spoken with feelings of regret at the untimely fate which had befallen Mr Dixon. They also sought to show that tbe betting book found by the detec live near the gun room was not likely to have belonged to the prisoner, who had always held strong notions on the subject of gambling, and to the best of their knowledge and belief had never recorded a bet in his life. With regard to the scene in the ball-room, they imagined that after Mr Dixon's departure from the room the prisoner would scarcely be likely to give a second thought to the matter. No other witnesses being called, Mr Edgbaston, Q.C , counsel for the defence, rose to address the jury. In a bril liant speech, lasting over an hour and a half, the learned gentleman reviewed the evidence of tbe witnesses both for the prosecution and the defence, and enlarged upon the evi dence adduced as to the general kindly disposition of the prisoner, and to the absence of all motive, so far as his client was concerned, for the committal of such an atrocious act a* that with which he stood charged that day. Was it likely, or even probable, he asked, that any man, after first shooting at a fellow man with the intention of taking his life, would endeavour to staunch the wound caused by his own hand, and by so doing allow himself to be discovered in a compromising position with res]»ect to the wounded man. There was also the fact of the strange appearance and disappearance of the person or persons who had been seen at the inn, and one of whom had taken the train to London on the very morning of the murder. Then there was the finding of the betting book near the room from which the revolver had been stolen ; the fact that the foot prints discovered there did not correspond with any boots belonging to the prisoner : the deposition of Mrs Fenton as to the prisoner’s visit to the Lodge, and his kind inquiries after her sick son ; and her statement that the stable clock struck two when the prisoner passed out at the Lodge gates. Taking into consideration the fact, that according to the evidence of the two keepers, the shot by which the unfortunate man presumably met his death, was fired almost immediately after the clock had struck two, and the time which would elapse before he could reach the spot where the body was discovered, it would be seen that it was physically impossible that the prisoner at the bar could have covered the distance from two o’clock to the time when the report was heard. He concluded with an eloquent appeal to the intelligent jurymen to discharge their duty by acquitting his client, who was entirely innocent of the heinous offenee with which he was charged, hut who had, by an unfortunate chain of circumstances, been placed in the trying position which he now occupied—a position which he had borne with commendable fortitude, being sustained by a conscious sense of innocence, and trusting to the justice and intelligence of the fellow-countrymen by whom he was tried to publicly clear him from any imaginary- stigma which might be supposed to attach to such a position.’ There was a murmur of applause from the assembled audience as the learned counsel resumed his seat, but this was quickly suppressed, and the Judge summed up, point ing out to the jury the law regarding such cases as the present one. The jury retired, and in about half an hour returned into court. In reply to the usual question from the judge, the foreman replied, ‘ We find the prisoner not guilty, my lord.’ What a shout went through the old Court house when the verdict was announced, a shout which even the policeman's dignified command for ‘ Silence in tbe Court !’ scarcely suf ficed to supress ! The warders who had stood so close to Herald during the hearing of the evidence touched their hats respectfully, and stood to one side as Gerald’s friends pressed round him, eager to shake him by the hands and congratulate him on his restoration to freedom. Gerald himself was strangely affected. He had been listening to his counsel’s appeal to the jury with such intentness, and tbe verdict was declared such a short time after wards that he seemed scarcely able to realise that the trial was over. In fact, as he afterwards explained to Mr Edgebaston, it seemed to him that upon the decision of the jury some other poor fellow’s chance of life depended, and he felt glad to think that the ‘ poor beggar ’ would have another opportunity for repentance. He was recalled to his senses, however, by the sight of a pale, eager looking face at the entiance to the Court, which he at once recognised as that of the woman he loved, Constance Oakfield, and the sight of her winsome face roused him from his reverie, and for the first time he realized the excessive mental strain which he had undergone, ami for her sake as well as his own he was glad that the verdict had been ‘ Not guilty.’ ITO BE CONTINUED.)