On the part of the defence, there was no attempt to disprove the genuineness of the second will. It had been made by a lawyer of the highest respectability, who was ready to prove it.

The point turned upon the question of ident.i.ty; the defendant denying that the plaintiff was his half-brother, or in any way ent.i.tled to relationship.

There was no proof that Henry Harding was dead--only the presumption; and to strengthen this, the defendant's counsel--imprudently, as it afterwards turned out--exhibited certain letters written by the real Henry Harding as he called him--showing that he had been captive to a band of Italian brigands, who threatened to take his life, unless a ransom should be paid for him.

It was proved that this ransom was _not_ paid; that it had been sent; but, as the defence alleged, too late. The plaintiff's own witnesses were compelled to testify to this.

The presumption, therefore, was that the bandits, speaking through their chief, Corvino, had carried out their threat.

This was the impression produced upon "twelve men, good and true," after an eloquent speech made by an eminent counsel, to whom the defendant's solicitors had entrusted the conduct of their case.

On the plaintiff's side, a story had been told that appeared altogether incredible. It was preposterous to suppose--as thought twelve English tradesmen--that the son of an English gentleman of wealth and standing should voluntarily take to the profession of painting pictures, and afterwards exile himself to such a country as South America: there to stay, forgetting his fine estate at home, till the merest accident gave him cause to remember it! They could have believed in such self-banishment in one of their own sons; but the son of a general, a county squire, the owner of a large landed estate--the thing was not to be credited!

They could give credence to the brigand part of the tale, though that too seemed queer to them. But the story of the self-exile--leaving an estate unclaimed! The plaintiff's counsel might tell that to the marines!

So stood the case, after several days spent in the questioning and cross-questioning of witnesses, and the trial was approaching its termination.

All the testimony which the plaintiff's counsel could produce was not sufficient to establish his ident.i.ty. It could not convince a British jury, that the sun-embrowned and bearded young man, set forth as the claimant of Beechwood Park, was the son of its former proprietor; while the pale, silent gentleman, who now held possession of it, undoubtedly was.

Possession has been said to be nine points of the law. Coupled with wealth, it is generally so in the eyes of legal gentlemen, and often of juries.

The plaintiffs case appeared hopeless. Notwithstanding all that is known to the reader, it trembled on the edge of being decreed an attempt at usurpation, and he himself declared an attempted usurper and defrauder.

The trial had reached this crisis, and was expected soon to terminate.

But before the end came, the plaintiff's counsel begged leave to call a witness, one who had already stood upon the stand, but on the side of the defendant. Then, he had been a witness against his own will--having to give testimony that seemed favourable to the plaintiff's opponent.

The witness was Mr Lawson, of the firm of Lawson and Son, solicitors, of Lincoln's Inn. It was the senior partner, Mr Lawson himself, who was called. As he took his place in the box, there was a twinkle in the old lawyer's eye; that, although comical, seemed to have meaning of mischief in it. The "twelve good men and true" could not guess at what it meant, though they understood it before the examining counsel had done with him.

"You say General Harding received another letter from Italy?" questioned the latter, after Lawson senior had kissed the Book, and been put through the usual preliminaries of examination.

"I do."

"I don't mean either of those already submitted to the jury. The letter I refer to is one written, not by his son, but by the bandit chief, Corvino. Did General Harding receive such a letter?"

"He did."

"You can prove that?"

"I can prove it; from his having told me he did, and placed it in my hands for safe keeping."

"When did this occur?"

"Shortly before the General's death. In fact, on the same day he made the will."

"Which will?"

"The one under which the plaintiff claims."

"You mean that was the date when he placed the letter in your hands?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell when the General received it?"

"I can. The postmark will show that: as also whence it came."

"Can you produce this letter?"

"It is here."

The witness took an epistle out of his pocket, and handed it to the examining counsel; who, in turn, pa.s.sed it up to the judge.

It was a dingy-looking doc.u.ment, blotched over with postmarks, stained by travel, and a good deal embrowned by being kept several years in the atmosphere of a London law-office.

"My Lord," said the plaintiff's counsel, "I have to request that that letter be read to the gentlemen of the jury."

"Certainly, let it be read," was the response of his Lordship.

It was read. It was the letter which the chief Corvino had addressed to the father of his captive, conveying the terrible threat and still more fearful enclosure.

The reading caused "sensation in the court."

"Mr Lawson," pursued the same questioner, after the excitement had a little subsided, "may I ask you to state to the jury what you know about the enclosure spoken of in this letter? Tell us all about it."

"I shall tell you what General Harding told me. He said he received in it a finger, which was that of his son. He recognised it by a scar well known to him: it was the scar of a cut given him by his elder brother, when they were boys out shooting together."

"Can you tell what became of that finger?"

"I can. It is here. General Harding placed it in my hands, along with the letter in which it had been enclosed."

The witness then handed up the finger spoken of. It was a ghastly confirmation of his testimony, and produced a tremendous sensation in court; which continued, long after Mr Lawson had been noticed to leave the witness-box.

"My Lord!" called out the plaintiff's counsel, "I have one more witness to examine, and then we shall be done. This is Mr Henry Harding."

"The gentleman who so calls himself!" interposed one of the barristers who had been briefed by the party for the defence.

"And who will so prove himself!" confidently retorted the plaintiff's counsel.

By consent of the judge, the claimant was put upon the stand, and became emphatically the cynosure of every eye in the crowded court.

He was elegantly, though not foppishly dressed, wearing upon his hands a pair of stout dogskin gloves.

"May I ask you, sir," said his counsel, "to draw off your gloves? The left-hand one will be enough."

The request was complied with, the witness making no other answer.

"Now, sir, have the goodness to hold out your hand, so that the jury may see it."