“A moment, sir,” he said. “I want to ask you a few questions, with the permission of His Worship, who will soon see that they are very pertinent. So,” he went on, “you reside at the Belmead Hotel, in Lancaster Gate, and your name is Edward Cave?”
“At present,” answered the witness, stiffly.
“Do you mean that your name is Edward Cave—at present?”
“My name is Edward Cave, and at present I live—as I have stated,” replied the witness with dignity.
“You have just stated, on oath, that you are not Nugent Starr, have never been so called, don’t know the prisoner, never met him in America, have never set foot in America! Now, then—mind, you’re on your oath!—is Edward Cave your real or full name?”
“Well, strictly speaking,” answered the witness, after some hesitation, “no, it is not. My full name is Cave-Gray—my family name; but for the present—”
“For the present you wish to be called Mr. Cave. Now, sir, are you not the person who claims to be the rightful Earl of Ellingham?”
A murmur of excited interest ran round the court, and everybody recognized that a new stage of the case had been entered upon. Every eye, especially the observant eyes on the bench, were fixed on the witness, who now looked considerably ruffled. He glanced at Methley—but Methley sat with averted look and made no sign; he looked at the magistrate; the magistrate, it was plain, expected the question to be answered. And the answer came, almost sullenly.
“Yes, I am!”
“That is to say, you are really—or you claim to be really—the Lord Marketstoke who disappeared from England some thirty-five years ago, and you have now returned, though you are legally presumed to be dead, to assert your rights to titles and estates? You absolutely claim to be the ninth Earl of Ellingham?”
“Yes!”
“Where have you been during the last thirty-five years?”
“In Australia.”
“What part?”
“Chiefly in Melbourne. But I was for four or five years upcountry.”
“What name did you go under there?”
Mr. Pawle, Mr. Carless and the rest of the spectators who were in these secrets regarded the witness with keen attention when this question was put to him. But his answer came promptly.
“At first, under the name of Wickham. Later under the one I now use—Cave.”
“Did you marry out there?”
“Never!”
“And so, of course, you never had a daughter?”
“I have never been married and have never had daughter or son!”
Mr. Millington-Bywater turned to Mr. Carless, at his left elbow, and exchanged two or three whispered remarks with him. At last he looked round again at the witness.
“Yesterday,” he said, “in your character of claimant to the Ellingham title and estates you showed to Messrs. Carless & Driver, of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and to the present holder of the title, certain documents, letters, papers, which would go some way toward establishing your claim to be what you profess to be. Now, I will say at once that we believe these papers to have been stolen from the body of John Ashton when he was murdered. And I will ask you a direct question, on your oath! Have those papers always been in your possession since you left England thirty-five years ago?”
The witness drew himself up and looked steadily at his questioner.
“No!” he answered firmly. “They were stolen from me almost as soon as I arrived in Australia. I have only just regained possession of them.”
XXIII
Is This Man Right?
A murmur of astonishment ran through the court as the witness made his last reply, and those most closely interested in him turned and looked at each other with obvious amazement. And for a moment Mr. Millington-Bywater seemed to be at a loss; in the next he bent forward toward the witness-box and fixed the man standing there with a piercing look.
“Do you seriously tell us, on your oath, that these papers—your papers, if you are what you claim to be—were stolen from you many years ago, and have only just been restored to you?” he asked. “On your oath, mind!”
“I do tell you so,” answered the witness quietly. “I am on oath.”
The magistrate glanced at Mr. Millington-Bywater.
“What is the relevancy of this—in relation to the prisoner and the charge against him?” he inquired. “You have some point, of course?”
“The relevancy is this, Your Worship,” replied Mr. Millington-Bywater: “Our contention is that the papers referred to were until recently in the custody of John Ashton, the murdered man—I can put a witness in the box who can give absolute proof of that, a highly reputable witness, who is present—and that John Ashton was certainly murdered by some person or persons who, for purposes of their own, wished to gain possession of them. Now, we know that they are in possession of the present witness, or rather, of his solicitors, to whom he has handed them. I mean to prove that Ashton was murdered in the way, and for the reason I suggest, and that accordingly the prisoner is absolutely innocent of the charge brought against him. I should therefore like to ask this witness to tell us how he regained possession of these papers, for I am convinced that in what he can tell us lies the secret of Ashton’s murder. Now,” he continued, turning again to the witness as the magistrate nodded assent, “we will assume for the time being that you are what you represent yourself to be—the Lord Marketstoke who disappeared from England thirty-five years ago. You have just heard what I said to His Worship—about these papers, and what I put forward as regards their connection with the murder of John Ashton? Will you tell us how you lost those papers, and more particularly, how you recently regained possession of them? You see the immense, the vital importance of this to the unfortunate young fellow in the dock?”
“Who,” answered the witness with a calm smile, “is quite and utterly mistaken in
