At this trial there were among the crowd who succeeded in entering the Court three persons of our acquaintance who had resolved to overcome the various difficulties. Mr. Monk, who had formerly been a Cabinet Minister, was seated on the bench—subject, indeed, to the heat and stenches, but privileged to eat the lunch. Mr. Quintus Slide, of The People’s Banner—who knew the Court well, for in former days he had worked many an hour in it as a reporter—had obtained the good graces of the under-sheriff. And Mr. Bunce, with all the energy of the British public, had forced his way in among the crowd, and had managed to wedge himself near to the dock, so that he might be able by a hoist of the neck to see his lodger as he stood at the bar. Of these three men, Bunce was assured that the prisoner was innocent—led to such assurance partly by belief in the man, and partly by an innate spirit of opposition to all exercise of restrictive power. Mr. Quintus Slide was certain of the prisoner’s guilt, and gave himself considerable credit for having assisted in running down the criminal. It seemed to be natural to Mr. Quintus Slide that a man who had openly quarrelled with the Editor of The People’s Banner should come to the gallows. Mr. Monk, as Phineas himself well knew, had doubted. He had received the suspected murderer into his warmest friendship, and was made miserable even by his doubts. Since the circumstances of the case had come to his knowledge, they had weighed upon his mind so as to sadden his whole life. But he was a man who could not make his reason subordinate to his feelings. If the evidence against his friend was strong enough to send his friend for trial, how should he dare to discredit the evidence because the man was his friend? He had visited Phineas in prison, and Phineas had accused him of doubting. “You need not answer me,” the unhappy man had said, “but do not come unless you are able to tell me from your heart that you are sure of my innocence. There is no person living who could comfort me by such assurance as you could do.” Mr. Monk had thought about it very much, but he had not repeated his visit.
At a quarter past ten the Chief Justice was on the bench, with a second judge to help him, and with lords and distinguished commoners and great City magnates crowding the long seat between him and the doorway; the Court was full, so that you would say that another head could not be made to appear; and Phineas Finn, the member for Tankerville, was in the dock. Barrington Erle, who was there to see—as one of the great ones, of course—told the Duchess of Omnium that night that Phineas was thin and pale, and in many respects an altered man—but handsomer than ever.
“He bore himself well?” asked the Duchess.
“Very well—very well indeed. We were there for six hours, and he maintained the same demeanour throughout. He never spoke but once, and that was when Chaffanbrass began his fight about the jury.”
“What did he say?”
“He addressed the judge, interrupting Slope, who was arguing that some man would make a very good juryman, and declared that it was not by his wish that any objection was raised against any gentleman.”
“What did the judge say?”
“Told him to abide by his counsel. The Chief Justice was very civil to him—indeed better than civil.”
“We’ll have him down to Matching, and make ever so much of him,” said the Duchess.
“Don’t go too fast, Duchess, for he may have to hang poor Phineas yet.”
“Oh dear; I wish you wouldn’t use that word. But what did he say?”
“He told Finn that as he had thought fit to employ counsel for his defence—in doing which he had undoubtedly acted wisely—he must leave the case to the discretion of his counsel.”
“And then poor Phineas was silenced?”
“He spoke another word. ‘My lord,’ said he, ‘I for my part wish that the first twelve men on the list might be taken.’ But old Chaffanbrass went on just the same. It took them two hours and a half before they could swear a jury.”
“But, Mr. Erle—taking it altogether—which way is it going?”
“Nobody can even guess as yet. There was ever so much delay besides that about the jury. It seemed that somebody had called him Phinees instead of Phineas, and that took half an hour. They begin with the quarrel at the club, and are to call the first witness tomorrow morning. They are to examine Ratler about the quarrel, and Fitzgibbon, and Monk, and, I believe, old Bouncer, the man who writes, you know. They all heard what took place.”
“So did you?”
“I have managed to escape that. They can’t very well examine all the club. But I shall be called afterwards as to what took place at the door. They will begin with Ratler.”
“Everybody knows there was a quarrel, and that Mr. Bonteen had been drinking, and
