Whereupon Sir Wigmore Wrinching, the Attorney-General, rose to open the case for the Crown.
After the usual preliminaries to the effect that the case was a very painful one and the occasion a very solemn one, Sir Wigmore proceeded to unfold the story from the beginning: the quarrel, the shot at 3 a.m., the pistol, the finding of the body, the disappearance of the letter, and the rest of the familiar tale. He hinted, moreover, that evidence would be called to show that the quarrel between Denver and Cathcart had motives other than those alleged by the prisoner, and that the latter would turn out to have had “good reason to fear exposure at Cathcart’s hands.” At which point the accused was observed to glance uneasily at his solicitor. The exposition took only a short time, and Sir Wigmore proceeded to call witnesses.
The prosecution being unable to call the Duke of Denver, the first important witness was Lady Mary Wimsey. After telling about her relations with the murdered man, and describing the quarrel, “At three o’clock,” she proceeded, “I got up and went downstairs.”
“In consequence of what did you do so?” inquired Sir Wigmore, looking round the Court with the air of a man about to produce his great effect.
“In consequence of an appointment I had made to meet a friend.”
All the reporters looked up suddenly, like dogs expecting a piece of biscuit, and Sir Wigmore started so violently that he knocked his brief over upon the head of the Clerk to the House of Lords sitting below him.
“Indeed! Now, witness, remember you are on your oath, and be very careful. What was it caused you to wake at three o’clock?”
“I was not asleep. I was waiting for my appointment.”
“And while you were waiting did you hear anything?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Now, Lady Mary, I have here your deposition sworn before the Coroner. I will read it to you. Please listen very carefully. You say, ‘At three o’clock I was wakened by a shot. I thought it might be poachers. It sounded very loud, close to the house. I went down to find out what it was.’ Do you remember making that statement?”
“Yes, but it was not true.”
“Not true?”
“No.”
“In the face of that statement, you still say that you heard nothing at three o’clock?”
“I heard nothing at all. I went down because I had an appointment.”
“My lords,” said Sir Wigmore, with a very red face. “I must ask leave to treat this witness as a hostile witness.”
Sir Wigmore’s fiercest onslaught, however, produced no effect, except a reiteration of the statement that no shot had been heard at any time. With regard to the finding of the body, Lady Mary explained that when she said, “Oh, God! Gerald, you’ve killed him,” she was under the impression that the body was that of the friend who had made the appointment. Here a fierce wrangle ensued as to whether the story of the appointment was relevant. The Lords decided that on the whole it was relevant; and the entire Goyles story came out, together with the intimation that Mr. Goyles was in court and could be produced. Eventually, with a loud snort, Sir Wigmore Wrinching gave up the witness to Sir Impey Biggs, who, rising suavely and looking extremely handsome, brought back the discussion to a point long previous.
“Forgive the nature of the question,” said Sir Impey, bowing blandly, “but will you tell us whether, in your opinion, the late Captain Cathcart was deeply in love with you?”
“No, I am sure he was not; it was an arrangement for our mutual convenience.”
“From your knowledge of his character, do you suppose he was capable of a very deep affection?”
“I think he might have been, for the right woman. I should say he had a very passionate nature.”
“Thank you. You have told us that you met Captain Cathcart several times when you were staying in Paris last February. Do you remember going with him to a jeweller’s—Monsieur Briquet’s in the Rue de la Paix?”
“I may have done; I cannot exactly remember.”
“The date to which I should like to draw your attention is the sixth.”
“I could not say.”
“Do you recognize this trinket?”
Here the green-eyed cat was handed to witness.
“No; I have never seen it before.”
“Did Captain Cathcart ever give you one like it?”
“Never.”
“Did you ever possess such a jewel?”
“I am quite positive I never did.”
“My lords, I put in this diamond and platinum cat. Thank you, Lady Mary.”
James Fleming, being questioned closely as to the delivery of the post, continued to be vague and forgetful, leaving the Court, on the whole, with the impression that no letter had ever been delivered to the Duke. Sir Wigmore, whose opening speech had contained sinister allusions to an attempt to blacken the character of the victim, smiled disagreeably, and handed the witness over to Sir Impey. The latter contented himself with extracting an admission that witness could not swear positively one way or the other, and passed on immediately to another point.
“Do you recollect whether any letters came by the same post for any of the other members of the party?”
“Yes; I took three or four into the billiard-room.”
“Can you say to whom they were addressed?”
“There were several for Colonel Marchbanks and one for Captain Cathcart.”
“Did Captain Cathcart open his letter there and then?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. I left the room immediately to take his grace’s letters to the study.”
“Now will you tell us how the letters are collected for the post in the morning at the Lodge?”
“They are put into the postbag, which is locked. His grace keeps one key and the post-office has the other. The letters are put in through a slit in the top.”
“On the morning after Captain Cathcart’s death were the letters taken to the post as usual?”
“Yes, sir.”
“By whom?”
“I took the bag down myself, sir.”
“Had you an opportunity of seeing what letters were in it?”
“I saw there was two or
