a ruse on her part?" asked the judge.
"I'm afraid so. She--she did not return," he continued, with a sign ofemotion. "After she had been absent five or six minutes I heard ashrill scream, and then a sound like the smashing of glass. At first Ibelieved that the servant had fallen with a tray, and fully expected mywife to return and relate the occurrence; but as she did not come Iopened the door and listened. All was silent. The terrible quietunmanned me. I called to her, but there was no response, then,suspecting that some accident had happened, I dashed downstairs andentered the room--"
"And what did you find?" counsel inquired.
The witness appeared overcome with agitation, which he strove torepress. 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 reallydead? Did you not call the servant?"
"No. Overcome by sudden fear I left the place, lest I should besuspected of committing the murder." This statement had a great effectupon the spectators, and it was some moments before quiet wassufficiently restored for the interrogatory to proceed. "Did you giveinformation 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 themurder?"
"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, beendeavouring to shield himself by giving evidence against some imaginaryperson. "Have you any idea who committed the deed?"
"I have--I believe--"
"Stop! Whatever information you can give in a serious charge like thismust be given to the police," exclaimed the judge, interrupting.
"Shall I give the police the name of the person I suspect?" asked theRussian.
"Yes; at the conclusion of your examination." Counsel for theprosecution rose and took a deliberate view of the witness, saying:"Tell me, Mr Seroff, what prompted you to act in the extraordinarymanner 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 forwarduntil 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 willaccept it."
"Not if I place the police on the track of the assassin?"
"You forget that by your refusal to state the whole of the facts, andkeeping the matter secret as you have, that you are an accessory, in acertain degree, to your wife's murder."
"I'm fully aware of it; nevertheless I refuse to give you the reason whyI 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 incompany with an inspector of police and a detective.
A few seconds later they returned, held a hurried conversation with theclerk of the Court, who in turn whispered something to the judge, whichappeared greatly to surprise him. Then the two officers went out again.
Had my newly-discovered brother-in-law divulged the name of themurderer?
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, andwhich all tended to show that the murder was committed by anotherperson, he felt assured they would not find me guilty. He commented atsome length upon the lack of corroborative evidence on the part of theprosecution, criticising the weak points in that masterly manner whichhad brought him so much renown.
"I again admit, gentlemen," he continued, "mine is not a whollysatisfactory defence, for the prisoner appears to have acted somewhatsuspiciously, and he refuses to explain certain matters connected withthe occurrence; yet this trial is satisfactory, inasmuch as it hascaused the real culprit to be denounced, and although I am as ignorantas yourselves as to the identity of the murderer, I understand thepolice are already engaged in tracking him.
"As I told you in my opening speech, there are certain facts connectedwith this case which are bound to be kept secret, even though a man'slife or liberty are at stake, and when I tell you that I--likeyourselves--am unaware of the bearing which these family affairs haveupon the crime we are investigating, you will fully appreciate thedifficulty in which I am placed. Had it not been for the production ofthe two witnesses by the prisoner's wife at the eleventh hour, I shouldhave been compelled to give way against the weight of circumstantialevidence brought by the prosecution. However, I feel assured that noright-minded man can assume that the prisoner at the bar had any hand inthe assassination of the defenceless woman in Bedford Place, after thestatement of the maid who actually saw the crime committed, and whopositively swears that the accused was not present. I would thereforeask you to at once return a verdict of `Not Guilty,' and thus bringabout the prisoner's discharge."
Then the judge summed up.
He reviewed the case with much deliberation and care, saying that, indealing with a crime committed without any witnesses being present,inference must take the place of direct evidence; but in the case beforethem they had discovered that a witness was present, and that witnesspositively swore that I was not the murderer. Therefore, despite theobvious gaps in the argument for the defence, it was an open questionwhether or not I should be discharged.
The spectators looked on with breathless anxiety, understanding that thewoman's evidence had served as a lever to demolish the whole theory ofthe prosecution.
But no. The jury were not unanimous. They asked leave to retire. Onceonly I saw Vera during the quarter of an hour they were absent. I couldsee she was terribly agitated as she leant over to consult Mr Roland."You need have no fear," I heard him say. "He will be acquitted."
All eyes were turned upon me during those awful moments.
Suddenly there was a movement, and the jury Slowly filed into Court.
A deathlike stillness ensued as the clerk rose and asked the foreman,--
"Have you agreed upon your verdict?"
"We have."
"Do you find the prisoner, Frank Burgoyne, guilty of having murderedEthel Inglewood, or not guilty?"
"Not guilty!"
An outburst of applause greeted this announcement; then the judgeordered my discharge, and I walked from the dock a free man.
Vera met me, and flinging her arms about my neck, kissed me. My facewas wet with her tears of joy. Not a single word was exchanged betweenus.
We left the Court together, and entering a cab, drove to the GrandHotel, where she was staying.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
VERA'S SECRET.
A few hours had elapsed since my acquittal, and after a brush up and ahasty meal I had entered Vera's sitting-room.
It was already dark. The tiny electric lamps flooded with amber lightthe small apartment rendered cosy by the drawn curtains. On a loungechair she sat, wrapped in a pale grey cashmere gown, with a bunch ofcrimson roses in her breast. At sight of me she rose. Not a muscle ofher countenance stirred, I and could divine her embarrassment by thesharp glance she momentarily darted at me.
I scented in this proceeding some annoying mystery.
A constr
ained silence reigned for some moments.
"Frank," exclaimed she, in a very calm tone, advancing slowly and takingmy hand, "at last we are alone."
"Yes, Vera," I replied, calling to my aid all my coolness to feign aserenity which I was far from possessing. "Now, perhaps, you will letme know this secret of yours which has so long estranged us, and broughtus all this sorrow."
She stood motionless, with compressed lips, and shivering slightly,said,--
"Forgive me! Frank, forgive me! I will tell you everything. You shallknow the truth; believe me."
"Why did you not tell me the truth long ago; then this degrading trialwould have been avoided," I said, bitterly.
"Because I could not, until this afternoon."
"Not