The Man Who Knew · Chapter 12 (2/2)

“And you refuse to say why?”

“I refuse to say why,” repeated the witness.

The judge on the bench made a little note.

“I put it to you,” said counsel, speaking impressively, “that it was in Silvers Rents that you took on another identity.”

“That is probably true,” said the other, and the girl gasped; he was so cool, so self-possessed, so sure of himself.

“I suggest to you,” the counsel went on, “that in those Rents Jasper Cole became Rex Holland.”

There was a buzz of excitement, a sudden soft clamor of voices through which the usher’s harsh demand for silence cut like a knife.

“Your suggestion is an absurd one,” said Jasper, without heat, “and I presume that you are going to produce evidence to support so infamous a statement.”

“What evidence I produce,” said counsel, with asperity, “is a matter for me to decide.”

“It is also a matter for the witness,” interposed the soft voice of the judge. “As you have suggested that Holland was a party to the murder, and as you are inferring that Rex Holland is Jasper Cole, it is presumed that you will call evidence to support so serious a charge.”

“I am not prepared to call evidence, my lord, and if your lordship thinks the question should not have been put I am willing to withdraw it.”

The judge nodded and turned his head to the jury.

“You will consider that question as not having been put, gentlemen,” he said. “Doubtless counsel is trying to establish the fact that one person might just as easily have been Rex Holland as another. There is no suggestion that Mr. Cole went to Silvers Rents⁠—which I understand is in a very poor neighborhood⁠—with any illegal intent, or that he was committing any crime or behaving in any way improperly by paying such frequent visits. There may be something in the witness’s life associated with that poor house which has no bearing on the case and which he does not desire should be ventilated in this court. It happens to many of us,” the judge went on, “that we have associations which it would embarrass us to reveal.”

This little incident closed that portion of the cross-examination, and counsel went on to the night of the murder.

“When did you come to the house?” he asked.

“I came to the house soon after dark.”

“Had you been in London?”

“Yes; I walked from Bexhill.”

“It was dark when you arrived?”

“Yes, nearly dark.”

“The servants had all gone out?”

“Yes.”

“Was Mr. Minute pleased to see you?”

“Yes; he had expected me earlier in the day.”

“Did he tell you that his nephew was coming to see him?”

“I knew that.”

“You say he suggested that you should make yourself scarce?”

“Yes.”

“And as you had a headache, you went upstairs and lay down on your bed?”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing in Bexhill?”

“I came down from town and got into the wrong portion of the train.”

A junior leaned over and whispered quickly to his leader.

“I see, I see,” said the counsel petulantly. “Your ticket was found at Bexhill. Have you ever seen Mr. Rex Holland?” he asked.

“Never.”

“You have never met any person of that name?”

“Never.”

In this tame way the cross-examination closed, as cross-examinations have a habit of doing.

By the time the final addresses of counsel had ended, and the judge had finished a masterly summing-up, there was no doubt whatever in the mind of any person in the court as to what the verdict would be. The jury was absent from the box for twenty minutes and returned a verdict of “Not guilty!”

The judge discharged Frank Merrill without comment, and he left the court a free but ruined man.