“Then are we to understand,” Miss Bellingham asked, “that we are rare and choice products, in a legal sense?”
“Undoubtedly,” replied Thorndyke. “The case of John Bellingham is, in many respects, unique. It will be followed with the deepest interest by the profession at large, and especially by medical jurists.”
“How gratifying that should be to us!” said Miss Bellingham. “We may even attain undying fame in textbooks and treatises; and yet we are not so very much puffed up with our importance.”
“No,” said her father; “we could do without the fame quite well, and so, I think, could Hurst. Did Berkeley tell you of the proposal that he made?”
“Yes,” said Thorndyke; “and I gather from what you say that he has repeated it.”
“Yes. He sent Jellicoe to give me another chance, and I was tempted to take it; but my daughter was strongly against any compromise, and probably she is right. At any rate, she is more concerned than I am.”
“What view did Mr. Jellicoe take?” Thorndyke asked.
“Oh, he was very cautious and reserved, but he didn’t disguise his feeling that I should be wise to take a certainty in lieu of a very problematical fortune. He would certainly like me to agree, for he naturally wishes to get the affair settled and pocket his legacy.”
“And have you definitely refused?”
“Yes; quite definitely. So Hurst will apply for permission to presume death and prove the will, and Jellicoe will support him; he says he has no choice.”
“And you?”
“I suppose I shall oppose the application, though I don’t quite know on what grounds.”
“Before you take definite steps,” said Thorndyke, “you ought to give the matter very careful consideration. I take it that you have very little doubt that your brother is dead. And if he is dead, any benefit that you may receive under the will must be conditional on the previous presumption or proof of death. But perhaps you have taken advice?”
“No, I have not. As our friend the Doctor has probably told you, my means—or rather, the lack of them—do not admit of my getting professional advice. Hence my delicacy about discussing the case with you.”
“Then do you propose to conduct your case in person?”
“Yes; if it is necessary for me to appear in Court, as I suppose it will be, if I oppose the application.”
Thorndyke reflected for a few moments and then said gravely:
“You had much better not appear in person to conduct your case, Mr. Bellingham, for several reasons. To begin with, Mr. Hurst is sure to be represented by a capable counsel, and you will find yourself quite unable to meet the sudden exigencies of a contest in Court. You will be outmaneuvered. Then there is the judge to be considered.”
“But surely one can rely on the judge dealing fairly with a man who is unable to afford a solicitor and counsel?”
“Undoubtedly, as a rule, a judge will give an unrepresented litigant every assistance and consideration. English judges in general are high-minded men with a deep sense of their great responsibilities. But you cannot afford to take any chances. You must consider the exceptions. A judge has been a counsel, and he may carry to the bench some of the professional prejudices of the bar. Indeed, if you consider the absurd license permitted to counsel in their treatment of witnesses, and the hostile attitude adopted by some judges toward medical and other scientific men who have to give their evidence, you will see that the judicial mind is not always quite as judicial as one would wish, especially when the privileges and immunities of the profession are concerned. Now, your appearance in person to conduct your case must, unavoidably, cause some inconvenience to the Court. Your ignorance of procedure and legal details must occasion some delay; and if the judge should happen to be an irritable man he might resent the inconvenience and delay. I don’t say that would affect his decision—I don’t think it would—but I am sure it would be wise to avoid giving offense to the judge. And, above all, it is most desirable to be able to detect and reply to any maneuvers on the part of the opposing counsel, which you certainly would not be able to do.”
“This is excellent advice, Doctor Thorndyke,” said Bellingham, with a grim smile; “but I’m afraid I shall have to take my chance.”
“Not necessarily,” said Thorndyke. “I am going to make a little proposal, which I will ask you to consider without prejudice as a mutual accommodation. You see, your case is one of exceptional interest—it will become a textbook case, as Miss Bellingham prophesied; and, since it lies within my specialty, it will be necessary for me to follow it in the closest detail. Now, it would be much more satisfactory to me to study it from within than from without, to say nothing of the credit which would accrue to me if I should be able to conduct it to a successful issue. I am therefore going to ask you to put your case in my hands and let me see what can be done with it. I know this is an unusual course for a professional man to take, but I think it is not improper under the circumstances.”
Mr. Bellingham pondered in silence for a few moments, and then, after a glance at his daughter, began rather hesitatingly: “It’s very generous of you, Doctor Thorndyke—”
“Pardon me,” interrupted Thorndyke, “it is not. My motives, as I have explained, are purely egoistic.”
Mr. Bellingham laughed uneasily and again glanced at his daughter, who, however, pursued her occupation of peeling a pear with calm deliberation and without lifting her eyes. Getting no help from her he asked: “Do you think that there is any possibility whatever of a successful issue?”
“Yes, a remote possibility—very remote, I fear,
