“Yes, sir, I remember it,” whispered Kenneby.
“Do you remember my asking you then whether you had been in the habit of witnessing Sir Joseph Mason’s signature?”
“Did you ask me that, sir?”
“That is the question which I put to you. Do you remember my doing so?”
“I dare say you did, sir.”
“I did, and I will now read your answer. We shall give to the jury a copy of the proceedings of that trial, my lord, when we have proved it—as of course we intend to do.”
And then there was another little battle between the barristers. But as Lady Mason was now being tried for perjury, alleged to have been committed at that other trial, it was of course indispensable that all the proceedings of that trial should be made known to the jury.
“You said on that occasion,” continued Furnival, “that you were sure you had witnessed three signatures of Sir Joseph’s that summer—that you had probably witnessed three in July, that you were quite sure you had witnessed three in one week in July, that you were nearly sure you had witnessed three in one day, that you could not tell what day that might have been, and that you had been used as a witness so often that you really did not remember anything about it. Can you say whether that was the purport of the evidence you gave then?”
“If it’s down there—” said John Kenneby, and then he stopped himself.
“It is down here; I have read it.”
“I suppose it’s all right,” said Kenneby.
“I must trouble you to speak out,” said the judge; “I cannot hear you, and it is impossible that the jury should do so.” The judge’s words were not uncivil, but his voice was harsh, and the only perceptible consequence of the remonstrance was to be seen in the thick drops of perspiration standing on John Kenneby’s brow.
“That is the evidence which you gave on the former trial? May the jury presume that you then spoke the truth to the best of your knowledge?”
“I tried to speak the truth, sir.”
“You tried to speak the truth? But do you mean to say that you failed?”
“No, I don’t think I failed.”
“When, therefore, you told the jury that you were nearly sure that you had witnessed three signatures of Sir Joseph’s in one day, that was truth?”
“I don’t think I ever did.”
“Ever did what?”
“Witness three papers in one day.”
“You don’t think you ever did?”
“I might have done, to be sure.”
“But then, at that trial, about twelve months after the man’s death, you were nearly sure you had done so.”
“Was I?”
“So you told the jury.”
“Then I did, sir.”
“Then you did what?”
“Did witness all those papers.”
“You think then now that it is probable you witnessed three signatures on the same day?”
“No, I don’t think that.”
“Then what do you think?”
“It is so long ago, sir, that I really don’t know.”
“Exactly. It is so long ago that you cannot depend on your memory.”
“I suppose I can’t, sir.”
“But you just now told the gentleman who examined you on the other side, that you were quite sure you did not witness two deeds on the day he named—the 14th of July. Now, seeing that you doubt your own memory, going back over so long a time, do you wish to correct that statement?”
“I suppose I do.”
“What correction do you wish to make?”
“I don’t think I did.”
“Don’t think you did what?”
“I don’t think I signed two—”
“I really cannot hear the witness,” said the judge.
“You must speak out louder,” said Mr. Furnival, himself speaking very loudly.
“I mean to do it as well as I can,” said Kenneby.
“I believe you do,” said Furnival; “but in so meaning you must be very careful to state nothing as a certainty, of the certainty of which you are not sure. Are you certain that on that day you did not witness two deeds?”
“I think so.”
“And yet you were not certain twenty years ago, when the fact was so much nearer to you?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember whether you were certain twelve months after the occurrence, but you think you are certain now.”
“I mean, I don’t think I signed two.”
“It is, then, only a matter of thinking?”
“No;—only a matter of thinking.”
“And you might have signed the two?”
“I certainly might have done so.”
“What you mean to tell the jury is this: that you have no remembrance of signing twice on that special day, although you know that you have acted as witness on behalf of Sir Joseph Mason more than twice on the same day?”
“Yes.”
“That is the intended purport of your evidence?”
“Yes, sir.”
And then Mr. Furnival travelled off to that other point of Mr. Usbech’s presence and alleged handwriting. On that matter Kenneby had not made any positive assertion, though he had expressed a very strong opinion. Mr. Furnival was not satisfied with this, but wished to show that Kenneby had not on that matter even a strong opinion. He again reverted to the evidence on the former trial, and read various questions with their answers; and the answers as given at that time certainly did not, when so taken, express a clear opinion on the part of the person who gave them; although an impartial person on reading the whole evidence would have found that a very clear opinion was expressed. When first asked, Kenneby had said that he was nearly sure that Mr. Usbech had not signed the document. But his very anxiety to be true had brought him into trouble. Mr. Furnival on that occasion had taken advantage of the word “nearly,” and had at last succeeded in making him say that he was not sure at all. Evidence by means of torture—thumbscrew and suchlike—we have for many years past abandoned as barbarous, and have acknowledged that it is of its very nature
