On the next day, a Wednesday, the Commissioner saw Bulwer 161.

the tailor, who had been a witness of the affair of Milligan's trouser b.u.t.ton, though he had not been called in court. Dr Higson followed -he who had found the sc.r.a.p of newspaper in the lining of Kelly's coat-and later that afternoon the news was all round Smedwick that Wilc.o.x and his bag had been seen disappearing into the workhouse in search of Piggott. If this was a sensation-and it now required only the slightest movement on Wilc.o.x's part to rate as one-it was soon overtaken by another, as the news flew from house to house that Geordie Sugden himself, pale as a bogle', had gone at supper-time to the King's Arms where he had been closeted for two hours with the Commissioner.

After the fevered activity of the two previous days the town seemed almost morbidly quiet next morning, for Wilc.o.x had been detected at an early hour driving west along the moor road in a hired trap and his destination had been settled for him without much difficulty. 'He's ganned awa' tae Verney's', the word had gone round amidst general approval. The sight of the trap returning down the hill from the moor drew perhaps the largest audience Pelegate and Bewley Street had known since Milligan and Kelly had pa.s.sed that way after the famous confrontation scene, but the Commissioner would hardly have been aware of it or have seen the faces peering at him from behind the curtains in the dusk. He had other calls to make-one, most vital, upon Henderson-and these were noted too; until the darkness closed in and the watchers saw only the dim glow of the trap's lamps and heard the clip-clop of hooves in the Lawn-market near Police headquarters.

Justin heard them on the cobbles of the market-place, then the man's footsteps on his office stairs: the evidence of an activity he had called up but controlled no longer. He longed to know how the Commissioner had been impressed by the witnesses he had seen, particularly Blair, whose punishment now appeared as the great necessity in the case, apart from the release of the wrongfully accused men. But when he broached the matter he could see at once that Mr Wilc.o.x was not to be drawn beyond his strict terms of reference-"Punishment of the Police, sir? My dear Mr Deny, is not that premature? The possibility exists, of course, as do other possibilities; I think I should say no more. It is all in my report."

"Which you are publishing?"

"Well, naturally that will be a matter for the Minister," Mr Wilc.o.x said, raising his voice on the word as though invoking some more than mortal power. "The Minister could if he desired make public the results of a Treasury enquiry, but it has not in my experience been a very frequent practice to do so. You will appreciate the highly confidential nature of this business."

"I ought to, seeing that I have been handling it myself for weeks."

"And most vigorously," Mr Wilc.o.x commended him. "Your initiative in this matter has been most marked and I shall acknowledge it in my report. Of course, I don't pretend to understand exactly how it came about that you happened on all this and first became interested in Sugden. . . ."

"But surely you've seen the man and heard his story. And Henderson's."

The Commissioner had cleared his throat ominously at the name. "I have seen Henderson," he said. "I owe it to you to say that I have seen Henderson and that he has made a statement which in material particulars seems to me significant. Perhaps, sir, seeing that the subject has been raised, you will now elucidate certain matters arising out of it. Firstly"-here Mr Wilc.o.x began to unfasten his portfolio- "firstly will you explain how it came about that a certain watch, highly important to these enquiries, was taken from the man's house and lodged with you? Secondly, will you be so good as to inform me when and in what place the man's confession came to be made. Take your time, sir. These are matters vital to this enquiry-and perhaps to you."

XX.

On the 3rd of March Gilmore put down a Question in the House in terms which he had communicated in advance to his allies in Smed-wick: To ask the Home Secretary whether an enquiry has been made on behalf of the Solicitor to the Treasury in regard to the confessions of two men who allege that they committed a burglary at Ma.s.singham Rectory for which two other men were convicted in 1891 and sentenced to Penal Servitude for Life, and whether any report has been made by the Solicitor to the Treasury with respect to these said confessions, and if so whether such report does not show the truth of the said confessions and the innocence of the said prisoners, in which event . . .

163.

THE Ma.s.sIXGHAM AFFAIR.

"Does it have to go on like that-interminably?" cried the Reverend Mr Lumley as he reached this point. "Surely it is possible to put things more simply?"

"On the order paper of the House of Commons!"

"Well, my dear fellow, perhaps I am being naive about it and Gil-more should certainly know his business, though it sounds more like a conundrum to me. Do you understand it?"

"In parts."

"Then let us hope the Home Secretary shares your enviable discernment when it comes up today. At what time exactly?"

"I imagine about three."

It was then two on a murky afternoon with a thin drizzle falling on the square, in which half the booths were already down and the cheapjacks resignedly loading their carts, leaving behind them a scurf of refuse no dirtier than the slush among which the cats and dogs of the vicinity were scavenging. He stood at the window looking down, trying to imagine the scene in Westminster, but somehow there seemed no connection between it and the little grey disconsolate town under the rain. He tried to think of Milligan and Kelly far off in their prison cells, but their images were fainter still-no more than the memory of faces glimpsed in a crowd. Since the coming of the Commissioner to Smedwick the whole case, which had once been so close and personal, had receded from him in the strangest way, leaving him like some watcher in the shadows who sees the pa.s.sing of distant and mysterious events. Only the sense of excitement remained: greater than ever now that he had no controlling part to play. It was almost unbearable to have to sit and wait for the news Gilmore had promised him that day.

Soon after four he gave up all pretence of working and went out into the town through which the last of the market folk were straggling, some on foot, some on horseback, some in carts that jolted and slithered over the snow. Its first whiteness when every roof had glistened like crystal had long since gone and the whole place had a grubby look, like a stage set by daylight. In the Dene, the open gra.s.sy s.p.a.ce behind Queen's Row, the ground was a piebald of white and grimy yellow, pitted with the tracks of dogs and humans and toboggans which has worn a shiny run down the slope of the hill on the Pelegate side. Shrill voices reached him from across it as the children came out of school and he could see their small grey figures flitting over the landscape under the trees where a few cro- cuses showed their heads with the forlorn look of castaways on some unwelcoming sh.o.r.e. What a laggard of a spring it was. Out there in the mist and drizzle with the wind off the sea it was hard to believe that there would ever be warmth again, or birdsong, where now a flock of starlings settled with a whirring of wings and rooks prospected in the branches.

By six he was back in his office, hopeful that a telegram might have come. He poked the fire, which was nearly out, lit the gas behind the desk, and settled down with the best will he could muster to a dispute about the ownership of a tea-service which had convulsed two households and threatened to spread to the collaterals. Rain beat against the panes. He heard Spinks decamp and the portentous steps of Harris as he made the premises secure against any recurrence of unspeakable events. A kind of murmuring was rising around him. For a moment he thought he must have late clients in the waiting-room and his mind flew back to that other evening when he had heard Longford's voice on the far side of the baize door, but it grew louder, and he understood that it was from the street and that a number of people must be out there in the darkness. Yet all the market stalls were down.

He went to the window and drew back the curtains. There were lights down there, torches made of straw and sacking from the debris of the market, in whose flickering gleam he saw the crowd of dark figures on the cobbles and faces raised towards the window at which he stood. Mr Harris was behind him, and as he threw up the sash and leaned out he heard a great cry go up, saw the torches waving like fireflies in the darkness, and in front of them, directly below him, a small figure capering with a piece of paper in its hand. The cold sleet-laden air was beating against his face, tinged with the smell of fire; he caught the voices calling up to him, laughter, words tossed here and there, a confused melee of sound dying into silence around the figure of Mr Hicks below. Only then, at third hand via the Mercury office and the wildly excited crowd, did Justin learn that Milligan and Kelly would be free.

The first train into Smedwick from the south next morning was the milk' from King's Cross which arrived at 6.50 on a good day. It was not a train that commanded a large or enthusiastic following, and the surprise of its crew on coming to rest at Number Two platform to discover a reception committee of about two score excited 165.

people was extreme. "What's awa'? Have ye all ganned daft?" shouted the driver, a Lowlander from Dunbar, as folk came running alongside through the steam. Cries of "Worr are the lads? Worr's Mick?" exploded around him while the milk churns were noisily unloaded from the guard's van. "Who's Mick?" "Mick Kelly. Man, have ye nee h.o.a.rd of the Smedwick mortars?"

By two, when the northbound express from London went wailing through the station like a banshee, the crowd had grown to over a hundred strong, watched by a detachment of Police under an Inspector. "Worr's Blair?" voices called out to them. "Fetch the Suporr." The burly figure had been glimpsed that morning on the steps of his headquarters looking, as one observer had it, "like a muckle black de'il", and the Pelegate folk were not in a forgiving mood. "Has he catched Wee Geordie yet?" people wanted to know. "And Muckle Joe? Man but he's aafu' slow. He didna want to have catched 'em forbye."

In fact both Henderson and Sugden were already on their way to Belcastle gaol, having been hustled aboard the southbound 12.15 under the noses of the crowd that watched the horizon for every puff of smoke coming north across the snow-covered plain. A tall rushing pillar soon after four presaged the arrival of the Flying Scotsman, its whistle shrilling, whirling a debris of paper contemptuously in its wake as it rushed through on its way to Edinburgh. Mothers clutched their children; cries went up, "It's the Fleein' Scot. Worr's our Willie? Can ye no bide near to mither, ye gomeril!" A few eyes had already seen another column of smoke far off down the line, and as it approached and was identified as The Bomb', a notorious 'slow' that haunted every forlorn platform between York and Berwick, the crowd surged forward to the edge of the track, returning the astonished stares of driver and fireman with wild shouts for 'Mick' and the 'Smedwick mortars'. "They're not aboard," an authoritative voice called out from the rear, armed with the superior intelligence of the Mercury reporting staff. Lamentations broke out against the Government and the Great Northern, and as 'The Bomb' clanked and puffed its way on to the loop line to make way for the next express derisive boos and catcalls followed it.

Just before six the arrival of the editor of the Mercury and a reinforcement of police indicated to the observant that the great hour was approaching. Justin was there, at the back of the crowd that may have numbered a thousand, and near him the rotund figure of the Vicar of St Bede's in knickerbockers and Norfolk jacket gave the scene an individual flavour. A plume of smoke like a red serpent uncoiling could be made out through the gathering darkness, and now for the first time the crowd fell silent, so that the approaching rumble mingling with the voice of a child crying to its mother to go home could be distinctly heard.

As the train pulled in and the people saw the line of carriages and faces pressed to the panes their energies were released. A babel of shouting broke out down the length of the platform. Doors were wrenched open and the startled eyes of pa.s.sengers stared out into the gleam of lamps and home-made torches waving as though in the course of some fantastic dance. Suddenly a great cheer went up. From his position near the ticket office Justin saw the crowd in front of him sway like some living thing with tentacles and a central core that swelled and heaved. "Open the barriers," someone shouted close to him, and he heard the rattle of iron being swung back before the struggling ma.s.s that rolled towards him. As he was engulfed he heard a whistle shrilling, the hiss of steam, stentorian bellows from police officers, the sobbing of children, voices that called to one another wonderingly across an expanse of time-"Is it ye, hinney? My but ye've growed so. Worr's wor Jennie, me wee la.s.s?"

The pace of the retreat was slowing as the Police, with linked arms, shepherded the mob past the gates into the forecourt; and close at hand, not more than a few feet away, he saw the bearded figure and the much younger one that had haunted his waking hours for so long. He looked around for his friend to share the triumph with him, for suddenly his detachment had gone and he was able to feel the joy and pity of all those who wept and laughed and embraced one another after a long parting. But Mr Lumley was nowhere to be seen. On the far edge of the crowd he was busily at work collecting signatures for an appeal for mercy on behalf of Henderson and Sugden.

167.

THE TRIAL 1899.

"Members of the jury," Gilmore said, "in this case I appear for the Crown with my learned friend Mr McGlew, while my learned friend Mr Jessop represents the accused man Blair and my learned friend Mr Neil the accused men Mathieson and Moffat. The charge, as you have heard, is Criminal Conspiracy."

Here Gilmore settled himself comfortably against the wall of the dock and said in a matter-of-fact voice: "You may think, when all is over, that it is one of the most extraordinary stories you have ever heard. Gentlemen, the Prosecution say that because of what happened one winter's night in a remote rectory on the fells, and because of what these accused police officers thought of that event and continued to pretend when they very well knew better, two innocent men were tried and sent to penal servitude for life and served eight years before the truth came out. The Prosecution say that the evidence on which they were condemned was false and had been manufactured by these accused in the dock today. To make the punishment fit the crime' was the benevolent aim of the Mikado in the opera. It has been left to these police officers to show that in a less humane democracy the evidence can be made to fit the crime as well. This we shall show.

"Gentlemen, my case is in a sense an epilogue. There was a first act which was played out in this same court when two humble people whom I shall call before you were tried and condemned on the false evidence I have spoken of. The second was brought to its climax by the efforts of two just and selfless men-for it is by twos we go throughout-who uncovered the truth and the real perpetrators of that old crime and saw them brought to justice. You will hear for yourselves from those criminals who on that winter night broke into the home of an old man to steal and fired a gun at him. You may wonder whether it has ever happened before that convicted men, the innocent and the guilty, have united to testify to the immeas- 171.

urably more shocking guilt of the police officers who arrested them. Strange are the workings of providence-and, you may think, of human justice. Milligan and Kelly, who were innocent, were charged with burglary and attempted murder and might have lived out their lives in prison. Henderson and Sugden, guilty, were charged with burglary alone and sentenced to five years. Let us admit that some rest.i.tution has been made. Milligan and Kelly have been released. But they should never have been imprisoned. They have been pardoned. For something they never did. They have each been given eight hundred pounds as an act of grace-and one applauds that, though perhaps not the Treasury rates for an injustice that has lasted for eight years.

"Members of the jury, it is necessary that you should learn about these things in greater detail, since my case today is only to be understood in the light of what went before. So we will start in Mas-singham Rectory about two o'clock on a cold starlit night. . . ."

In the well of the court, a few places away from where he had sat with Rees, Justin listened to this opening. The wooden paling of the dock alone divided him from Blair and the two other accused; Gil-more was slightly to his left in the front row; and on the bench a thin, pale man in crimson robes seemed only to half fill the chair under the royal arms where Garrowby had brooded. Through the windows above the public gallery a shaft of light fell on the canopy above the judge's head and on the fashionable folk in the Grand Jury box along one wall. The trial jurors sat herded together in three rows of seats on the judge's left, facing towards Gilmore like well-conducted children in school, and opposite them was the witness-box. Apart from the judge, it was all so like the setting of eight years earlier that he half expected to hear some whispered comment from old Rees and to see the bearded Milligan and Kelly with his unformed peasant's face lean forward in the dock with the trapped expression that he could see now in the young constable, Moffat, at the far end of the line. It was of course Gilmore who gave the greatest force to the illusion: the elegant figure, the voice of reason itself- "Members of the jury, the Prosecution's case can be summarised easily. We say that the accused, acting in concert, arrested on suspicion of burglary two innocent men who happened to have been from home that night and charged them on that evidence alone. Then, finding that they had against their suspects nothing but two most indifferent identifications made by an old man and his daughter in almost total darkness, what did they do? Release them? Not at all. They were the best suspects they had. Did they unearth other evidence against them? How could they. There was no other evidence. So they had to create it. These police officers-officers of justice, members of the jury-set about making up a case to fit what they felt ought to have happened. There was no evidence that Milligan and Kelly had ever owned a housebreaking implement. One might think that a disadvantage from the Police point of view. But no-not to men of initiative. A chisel had been found at the scene of the crime, so the accused Blair sent his confederate Mathieson and P.C. Pugh down to the house of an old half-blind man called Piggott, where Kelly had lodged, and by working upon the fears and credulity of that old man they got him to say that this chisel (which he had never seen before and which they had planted on him) was his and that Kelly had had access to it.

"You may think that was a remarkable proceeding-a 'ruse', Blair called it, though perhaps you will find a better word. But we are only at the beginning. There are far more imaginative things to come."

Gilmore had given the jury a searching glance as he said this, to make sure that they were not adrift on his flights of irony, and satisfied with what he saw, went on: "We come now to what we might term the Taper Chase'. A piece of newspaper had been found in the rectory after the crime and this had been handed to the Police. A coat which Kelly was alleged to have been wearing that night was also handed to the Police by a person now dead. A fortnight after the crime-a full fortnight, gentlemen-the Police Surgeon Dr Higson (whose integrity I in no way impugn) was asked by Superintendent Blair to search that coat, and in it he found a fragment of paper that fitted exactly into the larger piece found in the rectory hall. What a fortunate chance! What incontestable proof of Kelly's guilt! Admittedly it was a little strange that only after a fortnight and several Police searches did the evidence come to light. And it savours almost of a miracle when we learn that according to the testimony of the witness Piggott the coat handed to the Police ivas never Kelly's; it was his.

"So much for the younger victim: they would have his skin. But the case against Milligan still required a little window dressing, a little decorous rearrangement here and there. So the accused man 173.

Moffat was sent to Ma.s.singham to hunt around under the window through which the burglars had come and gone. A month-a whole month this time-had pa.s.sed since the crime. But knowing the resourcefulness of these officers and the beneficent providence that guided them, can you doubt for a moment that that constable managed to unearth something of shattering importance to justify his journey? Of course he did. The diligent man had not been there an hour before he had dug up a b.u.t.ton with a bit of cloth attached. And remembering the sc.r.a.p of paper in the coat, can you doubt that that bit of cloth was found to fit as neatly as a sausage into its skin into a rent in Milligan's trousers, also in the possession of the Police? You may think, perhaps, that this third of the Superintendent's gambits shows a repet.i.tious quality unworthy of him, indicating that he was running out of ideas, but at least it shows his nose for a conviction was as keen as ever. Alas for him, that piece of evidence was rejected by the judge for reasons I need not trouble you about, and so the tailor, who was called in to perform what I might term the autopsy on the cloth and b.u.t.ton, was not called."

Gilmore paused and added grimly: "But I am calling him. He is an honest man. And he will tell you what he would have told the jury if he had been allowed-that though a leap through a window could have caused the tear, it seemed more likely that some sharper edge had done it, such as a pair of scissors or a knife. It looked deliberate and he told Blair so. Of course no one listened."

But in court they were listening now. Justin sensed around him an unwavering concentration. The restless stirring and coughing that had gone on during the swearing of the jury had ceased, and in the pause that followed, while Gilmore glanced at his brief, there was not a sound to be heard except for a faint rustling of paper in the press box. Even that had stopped as counsel straightened up again.

"Members of the jury, these three 'ruses', to adopt the Superintendent's amusing word, are serious enough. But you may think that what I have now to tell you is more outrageous still. It has about it an impudent air that sets it apart-at once daring and deceitful, simple and ingenious, sly and immensely effective. More than anything else it convicted Milligan and Kelly. Even today the Prosecution cannot put the whole truth of it before you, because it happened that for this one last and final coup the conspirators employed no one else, trusted no one but themselves. But little by little we will piece the story together. P.C. Pugh, whom I shall call, will tell part of it; so will Henderson, and a young farmer called Merrick. And I think the defendant Blair may tell us what remains-if he is called; if he goes into that box. We shall see. Meanwhile . . ."

After luncheon the long procession of witnesses began. Justin knew that it was Gilmore's plan to prove first the burglary and the events up to the time of the arrest of Milligan and Kelly, both of whom would be called to deny their guilt. Henderson and Sugden would follow to admit theirs, supported by the evidence of Miss Binns, the roadman Green, and Longford to speak to the recovery of the watch. The foundations of the burglary and its true solution having been laid, the last part of the Prosecution's case would consist of proof of the Police conspiracy through the mouths of Pugh (who had turned Queen's Evidence), Piggott, Merrick, Higson and the tailor.

First, then, Mr Verney.

As he slowly mounted the steps and grasped the edge of the box with his scaly old hands the illusion that had haunted Justin all that day became complete. Time had stood quite still for him. The Reverend Thomas James McMichael Verney, aged 76, Rector of Mas-singham since 1859. Remembered the night of the burglary. Awakened by his daughter . . .

Suddenly Justin saw that she was in court, which must mean that Gilmore would not be calling her. He felt glad that she would not be called and browbeaten into admissions of the terrible mistake she must know she had made, and that it would be left to the old man to deal with the stolen property and the identifications of the burglars who had broken into his home.

Poor Mr Verney. He was not one actually to eat his words. But he was definite no longer. The intruders, he now said, had seemed to him like Milligan and Kelly. Of course the light had been bad and everyone had been in a state of great excitement. He withdrew in no way the testimony he had given that the men were Milligan and Kelly, but the possibility of error had existed. The light had been so bad. There had been a large man and a smaller man, both standing like drilled men. The big one had shot at him. At any rate a gun had gone off. He had seen an interesting and beautiful meteorlike effect which he had attempted to describe in a letter to the press. As to the watch (shown him), it was undoubtedly his daugh- 175.

ter's. The seal (shown him) had been attached to the watch and had stood on a tripod on the drawing-room mantelpiece.

Cross-examined: He had certainly said at the trial that the burglars were Milligan and Kelly. He still thought that was probable. But the light had been so bad.

They were smiling in court. The old man's words no longer had significance. What he remembered or failed to remember would hurt no one now: it was light relief to listen to the old buffoon with his nightgown and candle, his meteorite and his identification of burglars by the drill book. Perhaps only Justin, who had suffered under the Verney memory for so long, felt pity for the old gentleman whose beard was wagging at them from the box and who seemed so astonishingly unaware of the harm he had done. To see him baited in the presence of his daughter was not pleasant, though there could be worse things. Suppose Gilmore were to call her after all!

When Mr Verney at last stepped down Justin was in panic that she would have to follow her father into the box. But it was only the Rectory cook, whose timorous appearance on the stairs above the tumult in mob cap and curlers had convulsed even Mr Justice Gar-rowby's court; followed by Bell, the odd-job man, who had found the newspaper in the hall.

Then Milligan. People were craning forward everywhere, and even the judge had glanced up from his notes towards the witness-box where the stolid bearded figure was standing with the Bible in his hand.

"You are Patrick Milligan?"

"Aye."

"Wheelwright, of 10 Orchard Close, Smedwick?"

"Aye."

"On the 7th of February 1891 were you and a man called Michael Kelly arrested on charges of burglary and attempted murder?"

"Aye."

"On the 15th March were you both indicted in this court for those offences, convicted and sentenced to penal servitude for life?"

"We were."

"Were you guilty?"

"Innocent."

It had taken eight years and three trials, Justin reflected, before the truth had been allowed to be told.

Next morning the Defence in the person of Mr Jessop advanced buoyantly upon it. Mr Jessop had slept well. His smooth well-nourished figure came bounding up the steps of the Moot Hall with the air of one who has some pleasant duty in store that will astonish the natives very much. "Mr Milligan," he greeted the reappearance of the witness, "Mr Milligan, you come before us as an honest man?"

"That I hope, sir."

"Whose word can be trusted," Jessop said. "What is your profession?"

"Wheelwright."

"And poacher, may we add?"

"I've poached, admitted."

"Do you admit convictions?"

"Aye."

"How many?"

"Six maybe."

"Milligan" (no Mister this time), "do you still say you are an honest-living man?"

That had been the keystone. And on it had been built an attack of considerable power and virulence, extending in time to Kelly and the whole field of the Ma.s.singham burglary. In form it was a restatement of what Paget for the Crown had said in that place eight years earlier, but made in the course of questions to men whom Paget had not been able to touch because they had been in the dock and protected by the law as it then stood. Now they were protected no longer but were witnesses, "men whose testimony you are asked to trust and to convict others on", in Jessop's words as he fixed the jury with bulbous and glittering eye. He was an excellent advocate, with a way of burrowing into a problem by the back door and of phrasing his questions in such a manner that his victims were made to look reluctant and sly, as though the truth were being dragged out of them. "Milligan," he asked on one occasion, "I think you tell us that you had an alibi for the small hours?"

The witness replied that he and Kelly had been on Bridewell Moor.

CUT.

0.

"Out walking? Taking the "We was poachin'."

"Were you now? Poaching. So in fact your alibi for one crime was to plead another. Did you have witnesses?" "Some lads as saw us comin' off the fell."

177.

"Saw you, did they? Most fortunate. Did you call them at your trial?"

"They've come today, sir."

"Did you call them at your trial, that's what I'm asking you?"

Under this treatment it was no wonder that both men, particularly Kelly, began to wilt a little. They had not expected such rough handling so late in the day. But though at times they were made to look foolish and stubborn, and their old fondness for other people's game was brought out in glaring colours, the core of their evidence remained untouched by anything Jessop could do. And the effect of it was very striking. At those moments when Defence counsel were on the attack and getting admissions a groundswell of sound could be heard in court-not the sudden intake of breath with which a damaging answer is greeted, but something restless and protesting, something very unfavourable to Blair and all he stood for. Only the jury seemed fairly immune. They had their property qualifications to think of and Mr Jessop to contend with at a range of a few yards. Yet even on their faces there was an expression which Justin thought he could read and which satisfied him as he saw the younger and more vulnerable of his two proteges released at last. "Call George Sugden," he heard Gilmore say, and voices were crying in the corridor, "George Sugden. Call George Sugden."

And suddenly he saw that Jessop was on his feet.

"Yes?" enquired the judge, glancing up from his notes which he had been scratching with a quill pen.

"My lord, if I might interpolate a point? We have heard from the two men originally convicted of the crime at Ma.s.singham, and I understand that the witness Sugden is one of their two 'successors', if I may use the term."

"He is one of the two men who now admit to the commission of that crime," Gilmore agreed in a suffering voice.

"Am I right-is my friend about to call them to repeat those confessions on oath?"

"Of course."

"Then might we hear how those confessions came to be made? They were first made to a Mr Deny, I believe?"

"That is so."

"Will my friend not be calling that gentleman as a preliminary? His name is on the back of the indictment."

Alarm. Horror. And then a definite exhilaration. In the clinical mood that the trial had induced, Justin recognised all these symptoms; also a sense of wonder as to what Gilmore would do.

"I will call him, certainly," the answer came without a trace of hesitation. "I must not disguise the fact, however, that Mr Derry has been in court throughout."