Though the hour was getting late, no one among the crowd thought ofleaving the court. Even the desire for tea, so peculiarly insistent ata certain hour of the day in the whole of the British race, wassmothered beneath the wave of intense excitement which swept rightover every one.
Although the next witnesses--who each in their turn came forward tothe foot of the table--swore to tell the truth and faced the coronerwith more or less assurance, they could but repeat the assertions ofthe head of the family; nevertheless the public seemed ready to listenwith untiring patience to the story which went to prove that the manwhom everybody believed to be the heir of one of the oldest titles andrichest rent-rolls in England was the son of a Clapham bricklayer, amaster of audacity and of fraud.
The mother--a worthy and simple soul--was the first to explain thatPaul, her only son, had always been something of a gentleman. He haddone very well at school, and never done a stroke of work like 'isfather. When he was fifteen he was quite stage-struck. "Alwaysplay-acting," as the mother put it, "and could recite poetrybeautiful!"
Mrs. Baker seemed distinctly proud of her son's deeply rooted horrorof work. She thought that all the instincts of a gentleman were reallyin him. When he was a grown lad, he went as footman in a gentleman'sfamily somewhere in the Midlands. The mother loftily supposed that itwas there that Paul learned his good manners.
"He was a perfect gentleman, sir," she reiterated complacently.
It appeared too that the wastrel had had a period in his career whenthe call of the stage proved quite irresistible, for he seemed to haveleft the gentleman's family in the Midlands somewhat abruptly andwalked on as super for a time in the various melodramas produced atthe Grand Theatre, Nottingham, whenever a crowd was required on thestage. There seems also to have existed a legend in the heart of thefond mother and of the doting sister that Paul had once really playeda big part in a serious play. But this statement was distinctlywanting in corroboration.
What was obviously an established fact was that the man had a certainspirit of adventure in him, and that he had been a regular rollingstone, a regular idle, good-for-nothing wastrel, possessing a certaincharm of manner which delighted his family and which was readilymistaken by the simple folk for that of a gentleman.
They were all called in turn; the sister, and young Smith "from nextdoor," and the latter's sister. Not one of them swerved for a momentfrom the original story told by Jim Baker. Emily and young Smith toldof the meeting which occurred on a fine summer's afternoon betweenthemselves and Paul. By the strange caprice of wanton coincidence themeeting occurred inside Green Park. Paul seemed a little worried,thinking that the passers-by would see him talking to "poor peoplelike us," as Emily Baker had it, "although," she added proudly, "I 'adme new 'at on, with the pink roses." Otherwise he was quite pleasantand not at all "off-'and."
The account of this interview was fully corroborated by young Smith"from next door." Jane Smith, who at one time had considered herselfengaged to Paul Baker, had a few tender reminiscences to recount. Shehad seen the prodigal once on the boards of the Queen's Theatre,Lewisham, and she declared that he looked "a perfect gentleman."
The day wore on, or rather the commencement of evening. Theevil-smelling fog from outside had made its home inside the dismalroom. People there only saw one another through a misty veil; thecorners of the room were wrapped in gloom. Exciting as was the storywhich had been unfolded this afternoon, one or two among the audiencehad given way to sleep. Lady Ducies' feathers nodded ominously, andthe old dame who had munched sandwiches was inclined to give forth anoccasional snore.
Louisa's eyes were aching. Constant watching had tired them; they evenceased to see clearly. Her brain too had become somnolent. She wastired of hearing these people talk. From the moment that Jim Baker hadstated that the murdered man was his own son, Louisa had known that hehad spoken the truth. Instinct was guiding her toward the truth,showing her the truth, wherever possible. She listened atfirst--deeply interested--to the scrappy evidence which told of PaulBaker's early life, but the family from Clapham Junction Road hadmarvellously little to relate. They no more understood theiradventurous-spirited son than they would have been capable of aidingand abetting the fraud which he concocted.
They themselves were far too simple and too stupid to be dangerouslycriminal. And so the evidence quickly lost its interest for Louisa.She herself, with the fragmentary statements which she heard, couldmore easily surmise the life history of Paul Baker than could thedoting mother, who retailed complacently every mark on the skin and onthe body of her son, and knew nothing whatever--less than nothing--ofhis thoughts, his schemes, of the evil that was in him, and theambition which led to his end.
And now the last of the Baker contingent was dismissed. Jane Smith,the sweetheart of the murdered man, was the last to leave thecoroner's table. She did so in a flood of tears, in which the otherspromptly and incontinently joined.
The coroner, somewhat impatient with them all, for their vague notionson the most important bearings of the case had severely tried him,adjourned the inquiry until the morrow.
He ordered the jury to be present at a quarter before ten, and gavethe signal for general withdrawal.