The witness twirled his moustache nervously, and glanced at me; then, as he saw my eyes fixed upon him, he scowled and turned away.

Yes. I felt convinced it was he. I could see guilt written upon his face.

"The story is a rather long one, and there are some matters which I cannot explain; however, I will tell you what occurred on the night in question. The murdered woman, who, for certain reasons, a.s.sumed the name of Mrs Inglewood, was my wife. She was called Rina Beranger before I married her, a schoolfellow of my sister's, at Warsaw. After our marriage it was imperative she should live in England, and for that reason she left me. I resumed my position, that of an officer of Cossacks, and for a year we were parted. At last I obtained leave and travelled from St Petersburg to London. I landed at Hull on the afternoon of the fifteenth of August, and at once telegraphed to my wife announcing that I should arrive about midnight."

"Did you sign that telegram?" asked Mr Roland.

"With my initial only."

"Is that the message?" counsel asked, handing up the telegram which had been put in as evidence against me.

"Yes; it is."

"I would point out, your lordship," observed Mr Roland, "that the letter B. stands for Boris, as well as Burgoyne, the prisoner."

Continuing, the witness said: "I arrived home soon after twelve at night, and was admitted by the woman I see sitting in the well of the Court. Supper was laid in an upstairs room, and my wife, who I thought appeared unusually nervous, called for it to be served at once. I do not remember how long we sat together talking; it might have been a couple of hours for aught I know. My wife was telling me certain things, which it is unnecessary to repeat here, they being purely business matters, when suddenly she recollected that she had a letter to give me. It was downstairs in the drawing-room, she said, and begging me to remain where I was she left the room, closing the door."

"Was this only a ruse on her part?" asked the judge.

"I'm afraid so. She--she did not return," he continued, with a sign of emotion. "After she had been absent five or six minutes I heard a shrill scream, and then a sound like the smashing of gla.s.s. At first I believed that the servant had fallen with a tray, and fully expected my wife to return and relate the occurrence; but as she did not come I opened the door and listened. All was silent. The terrible quiet unmanned me. I called to her, but there was no response, then, suspecting that some accident had happened, I dashed downstairs and entered the room--"

"And what did you find?" counsel inquired.

The witness appeared overcome with agitation, which he strove to repress. But was it only feigned?

"There--I saw my wife--lying on the floor--murdered!"

"How did you act immediately after discovering the crime?"

"I--I fled from the house," he stammered.

"Did you not first ascertain whether the unfortunate woman was really dead? Did you not call the servant?"

"No. Overcome by sudden fear I left the place, lest I should be suspected of committing the murder." This statement had a great effect upon the spectators, and it was some moments before quiet was sufficiently restored for the interrogatory to proceed. "Did you give information to the police?"

"No. I left for Paris at ten the same morning."

"Can you say positively that it was not the prisoner who committed the murder?"

"Yes; I am certain it was not," he replied, drawing a long breath.

I was still convinced he was the murderer. He might, I thought, be endeavouring to shield himself by giving evidence against some imaginary person. "Have you any idea who committed the deed?"

"I have--I believe--"

"Stop! Whatever information you can give in a serious charge like this must be given to the police," exclaimed the judge, interrupting.

"Shall I give the police the name of the person I suspect?" asked the Russian.

"Yes; at the conclusion of your examination." Counsel for the prosecution rose and took a deliberate view of the witness, saying: "Tell me, Mr Seroff, what prompted you to act in the extraordinary manner you did on discovering the crime?"

"I had no desire to be suspected."

"Would it not have been more natural to have given information at once, instead of hiding yourself?"

"Possibly it would."

"Then what caused you to keep the matter a secret, and not come forward until now?" demanded the lawyer, with a shrewd look.

"I had my reasons."

"It is those reasons I desire to know."

"I refuse to state them."

"Then your evidence is very incomplete, and I do not think the jury will accept it."

"Not if I place the police on the track of the a.s.sa.s.sin?"

"You forget that by your refusal to state the whole of the facts, and keeping the matter secret as you have, that you are an accessory, in a certain degree, to your wife's murder."

"I'm fully aware of it; nevertheless I refuse to give you the reason why I believed I should be suspected of the crime."

"Very well," said counsel, in a tone of annoyance, resuming his seat.

"I hope the jury will accept your evidence with the utmost caution."

"Have you any more witnesses, Mr Roland?" the judge asked.

"No, m'lord. This concludes the case for the defence."

Boris Seroff descended from the witness-box, and left the Court in company with an inspector of police and a detective.

A few seconds later they returned, held a hurried conversation with the clerk of the Court, who in turn whispered something to the judge, which appeared greatly to surprise him. Then the two officers went out again.

Had my newly-discovered brother-in-law divulged the name of the murderer?

Those were moments of terrible excitement.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

RAYS OF HOPE.

My trial was concluding.

With logical clearness Mr Roland addressed the jury for my defence, saying that in the face of the evidence which had been produced, and which all tended to show that the murder was committed by another person, he felt a.s.sured they would not find me guilty. He commented at some length upon the lack of corroborative evidence on the part of the prosecution, criticising the weak points in that masterly manner which had brought him so much renown.

"I again admit, gentlemen," he continued, "mine is not a wholly satisfactory defence, for the prisoner appears to have acted somewhat suspiciously, and he refuses to explain certain matters connected with the occurrence; yet this trial is satisfactory, inasmuch as it has caused the real culprit to be denounced, and although I am as ignorant as yourselves as to the ident.i.ty of the murderer, I understand the police are already engaged in tracking him.