“Thank you.”
Sir Wigmore Wrinching here bounced up like a very irritable jack-in-the-box.
“Is this the first time you have mentioned this letter which you say you delivered to Captain Cathcart on the night of his murder?”
“My lords,” cried Sir Impey. “I protest against this language. We have as yet had no proof that any murder was committed.”
This was the first indication of the line of defense which Sir Impey proposed to take, and caused a little rustle of excitement.
“My lords,” went on Counsel, replying to a question of the Lord High Steward, “I submit that so far there has been no attempt to prove murder, and that, until the prosecution have established the murder, such a word cannot properly be put into the mouth of a witness.”
“Perhaps, Sir Wigmore, it would be better to use some other word.”
“It makes no difference to our case, my lord; I bow to your lordship’s decision. Heaven knows that I would not seek, even by the lightest or most trivial word, to hamper the defense on so serious a charge.”
“My lords,” interjected Sir Impey, “if the learned Attorney-General considers the word murder to be a triviality, it would be interesting to know to what words he does attach importance.”
“The learned Attorney-General has agreed to substitute another word,” said the Lord High Steward soothingly, and nodding to Sir Wigmore to proceed.
Sir Impey, having achieved his purpose of robbing the Attorney-General’s onslaught on the witness of some of its original impetus, sat down, and Sir Wigmore repeated his question.
“I mentioned it first to Mr. Murbles about three weeks ago.”
“Mr. Murbles is the solicitor for the accused, I believe?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how was it,” inquired Sir Wigmore ferociously, settling his pince-nez on his rather prominent nose, and glowering at the witness, “that you did not mention this letter at the inquest or at the earlier proceedings in the case?”
“I wasn’t asked about it, sir.”
“What made you suddenly decide to go and tell Mr. Murbles about it?”
“He asked me, sir.”
“Oh, he asked you; and you conveniently remembered it when it was suggested to you?”
“No, sir. I remembered it all the time. That is to say, I hadn’t given any special thought to it, sir.”
“Oh, you remembered it all the time, though you hadn’t given any thought to it. Now I put it to you that you had not remembered about it at all till it was suggested to you by Mr. Murbles.”
“Mr. Murbles didn’t suggest nothing, sir. He asked me whether any other letters came by that post, and then I remembered it.”
“Exactly. When it was suggested to you, you remembered it, and not before.”
“No, sir. That is, if I’d been asked before I should have remembered it and mentioned it, but, not being asked, I didn’t think it would be of any importance, sir.”
“You didn’t think it of any importance that this man received a letter a few hours before his—decease?”
“No, sir. I reckoned if it had been of any importance the police would have asked about it, sir.”
“Now, James Fleming, I put it to you again that it never occurred to you that Captain Cathcart might have received a letter the night he died till the idea was put into your head by the defense.”
The witness, baffled by this interrogative negative, made a confused reply, and Sir Wigmore, glancing round the house as much as to say, “You see this shifty fellow,” proceeded:
“I suppose it didn’t occur to you either to mention to the police about the letters in the postbag?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t think it was my place, sir.”
“Did you think about it at all?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you ever think?”
“No, sir—I mean, yes, sir.”
“Then will you please think what you are saying now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You say that you took all these important letters out of the house without authority and without acquainting the police?”
“I had my orders, sir.”
“From whom?”
“They was his grace’s orders, sir.”
“Ah! His grace’s orders. When did you get that order?”
“It was part of my regular duty, sir, to take the bag to the post each morning.”
“And did it not occur to you that in a case like this the proper information of the police might be more important than your orders?”
“No, sir.”
Sir Wigmore sat down with a disgusted look; and Sir Impey took the witness in hand again.
“Did the thought of this letter delivered to Captain Cathcart never pass through your mind between the day of the death and the day when Mr. Murbles spoke to you about it?”
“Well, it did pass through my mind, in a manner of speaking, sir.”
“When was that?”
“Before the Grand Jury, sir.”
“And how was it you didn’t speak about it then?”
“The gentleman said I was to confine myself to the questions, and not say nothing on my own, sir.”
“Who was this very peremptory gentleman?”
“The lawyer that came down to ask questions for the Crown, sir.”
“Thank you,” said Sir Impey smoothly, sitting down, and leaning over to say something, apparently of an amusing nature, to Mr. Glibbery.
The question of the letter was further pursued in the examination of the Hon. Freddy. Sir Wigmore Wrinching laid great stress upon this witness’s assertion that deceased had been in excellent health and spirits when retiring to bed on the Wednesday evening, and had spoken of his approaching marriage. “He seemed particularly cheerio, you know,” said the Hon. Freddy.
“Particularly what?” inquired the Lord High Steward.
“Cheerio, my lord,” said Sir Wigmore, with a deprecatory bow.
“I do not know whether that is a dictionary word,” said his lordship, entering it upon his notes with meticulous exactness, “but I take it to be synonymous with cheerful.”
The Hon. Freddy, appealed to, said he thought he meant more than just cheerful, more merry and bright, you know.
“May we take it that he was in exceptionally lively spirits?” suggested Counsel.
“Take it in any spirit you like,” muttered the witness, adding, more happily, “Take a peg of John Begg.”
“The deceased was