Читать книгу Gentleman Jack, Bushranger - Don Delaney - Страница 4

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"Gentlemen of the jury," said his honor, in deliberate and impressive tones, "you have heard the evidence in this case and you have now to ask yourself whether there can be any reasonable doubt that the prisoner in the dock is guilty of a most cold blooded and brutal murder. It is my duty to tell you that, if you feel a reasonable doubt as men of ordinary intelligence, you should acquit the accused, but I am also bound to say to you that I have never heard a case more skilfully, more clearly, and, I may add, more convincingly put than this case has been put by Mr. Maynard as counsel representing the Crown."

An exclamation of indignant scorn escaped from the man in the dock, and a twelve-year-old boy sitting at the back of the court, beside a weeping woman, gazed with round-eyed wonder at the judge. The child dimly understood that things were going badly for his father.

"In the interests of justice," continued his honor inflexibly, "Mr. Maynard has followed up every clue and pieced together every scrap of evidence against the accused into a logical proof, which, as it seems to me, cannot be lightly disregarded by men who have sworn to do their duty without fear or favor. He has shown you that the bullet with which the unfortunate victim, Cornelius Considine, was shot, exactly fitted the revolver found in the possession of the prisoner. He has described to you how the body was found in the bush, having been dragged there from the main road, and hidden in a dense patch of scrub, and he has placed before you the black-tracker who examined the locality in conjunction with the police and who has sworn that the footprints found near the body were identical with those made by the prisoner's boots. Furthermore, gentlemen, he has shown that the murdered man had a large sum of money in his possession on the night of the murder and that no money at all was found on the body, while on the very next day the prisoner paid off a considerable debt to a creditor, who had been pressing him severely."

The prisoner in the dock gave a groan. The net of circumstantial evidence had been drawn tightly round him. The small boy at the back of the court glared with fury at the Crown law officer, who, as he dimly understood, had built up the case against the prisoner.

"Counsel for the defence has placed before you the prisoner's version of the facts," continued his honor, referring to his notes, "and has endeavored to prove an alibi. It is for you to say, gentlemen, whether you are satisfied with the evidence adduced to show that the prisoner was not within 20 miles of the scene of the murder on the fatal night. Mr. Maynard, with infinite perseverance, has co-ordinated a mass of detail which tends to show that the prisoner was in that immediate locality on the night in question, that he shot his victim through the head from behind, and then, having robbed the body, dragged it into the bush and hid it in the patch of scrub where it was found by the search party. I may express the view that this case at the outset offered some considerable difficulties. Counsel representing the Crown has, however, presented the case against the prisoner with such a masterly marshalling of convincing evidence that it is for you to say by your verdict whether he has not labored, in the interests of justice, so successfully as to sheet home the guilt of the prisoner beyond all possibility of doubt. Gentlemen, you will now retire and consider your verdict."

The prisoner in the dock sat down on the bench behind the iron spikes and buried his face in his hands. A constable touched him on the shoulder and pointed silently to the steps leading from the dock straight to the cells. The prisoner turned one wistful glance towards the boy who sat with the weeping woman at the back of the court, and then he disappeared down the steps.

The court adjourned. The judge, in his red robe and full-bottomed wig, withdrew from the bench through a small door at the back of his raised enclosure, and Mr. Maynard, having gathered up his papers, went off laughing and chatting with his legal confreres to luncheon at the hotel.

"Bet you an even sovereign that he is convicted, Williams," said Maynard across the luncheon table, to the barrister who had conducted the defence.

"I don't bet where a man's life is at stake," said Mr. Williams bluntly, "and I'm damned if I'll sit at the same table with you, Maynard, after that." He pushed his chair back and leaving his plate untouched quitted the room.

When the court re-assembled, the judge, after a whispered colloquy with the sheriff, announced that the jury had not yet agreed upon their verdict. He would remain in his room in readiness to hear it as soon as the jury had finished their deliberations.

The prisoner again disappeared from the dock and the assemblage settled down with a subdued buzz of comment to wait for the return of the jury.

The small boy and the woman at the back of the court sat in rigid silence, each clasping a hand of the other. The woman kept her eyes fixed on the empty dock, waiting for the reappearance of the prisoner. The small boy's gaze was directed to the door through which the jury had passed into the jury room.

Two, three, four hours passed—hours punctuated by the muffled sound of voices raised high in argument in the jury room. At last there came a knocking on the wall. It was a signal from the jury indicating that they had arrived at an agreement.

At once the judge was summoned from his room and the prisoner from his cell. The jury filed into their box and answered to their names. Then the fateful question was put.

"Gentlemen of the jury, are you all agreed upon your verdict?"

The foreman in a steady voice replied—"We are."

"Gentlemen of the jury, how say you concerning the prisoner at the bar. Is he guilty or not guilty?"

"Guilty," said the foreman with solemn emphasis.

"It's a lie," called the prisoner from the dock in ringing tones, "a damnable lie as I stand here before God. I never shot the man. I never saw him in my life."

"Silence in the court," shouted the crier.

The loud sobbing of a woman whom a small boy was trying to comfort at the back of the court, attracted the attention of two burly constables, who took her by the arms and led her with rough kindness outside and placed her in a chair in a bare, unfurnished room reserved for witnesses. The small boy escaped their attention. When his mother had gone, he sat on in his place with his eyes rivetted on the judge.

"Prisoner at the bar," said the judge, "you have been found guilty, by a jury of your fellow countrymen, of a cold-blooded and brutal murder. The evidence presented by learned counsel for the Crown could not be disregarded by any honest jury laboring in the interests of pure justice. The learned counsel has presented a case that, in the judgment of the jury, is conclusive against you; and with their verdict I am bound to say that I feel disposed to concur. You have had the advantage of a most able defence, and, in my opinion, everything that could possibly be done to minimise the damaging evidence fitted together with infinite pains by the prosecution has been done. It is not my intention to say anything now to add to the painfulness of your reflections. I am here simply to administer the law, and the law directs me to pass upon you the sentence prescribed for the awful crime of which you have been found guilty. Have you anything to say why the sentence of death should not now be passed upon you?"

"Listen!" The voice of the prisoner in the dock rang out with compelling force. "Your honor and gentlemen of the jury, you must hear me, for the blood of an innocent man will be on your heads. I cannot blame you for this awful mistake that you have committed, because you have been led into it by the devilish and hideous cunning of that man Maynard, whose sole object has been not to bring out the truth, but to secure a conviction at all costs. To promote his own interests and secure advancement from the Government, he has not scrupled to distort facts, to concoct evidence, and to overawe truthful witnesses in order to get me convicted on this charge. I repeat to you that I am innocent of the death of this man Considine, and that to my knowledge I never saw him in my life. But the Crown prosecutor, unable to find the real murderer, has hounded me down for his own private ends. He intends to buy his own preferment with the blood of an innocent man. I see him there with his pale face and his mocking smile, but I tell you now, your honor, and you, gentlemen of the jury, that God is not mocked. My curse shall fall on that man's head when I am lying in a dishonored grave. That learned counsel knows full well that I am innocent. Knowing it, his advancement shall turn to his own ruin. Degraded and despised, he shall die at last by a violent and shameful death. God will take vengeance upon the cold-blooded liar who has woven the hangman's rope for my neck with his cunning falsehoods. God will choose his own instrument in his own good time. Yes, Francis Maynard, for the life that you take to-day your own life shall be required of you. I have no more to say."

An awed hush fell upon the court as the judge, without further comments, passed sentence of death in the customary impressive formula.

Nobody noticed the small boy who had listened with staring eyes and close-pressed lips to the impassioned words of the convicted prisoner, and then to the dread sentence of the law. "God will choose his own instrument in his own good time," he kept repeating to himself.

Just before the prisoner was removed the small boy made his way to the dock. "What do you want here, sonny?" said a constable.

"I want to speak to my father," said the small boy.

So they lifted him up above the row of iron spikes and his father kissed him on the mouth. Father and son whispered together. It was a last farewell.

"Father, I will never forget," said the small boy. And then they took the prisoner away, down those steps inside the dock and through the underground passage to the prison van.

Francis Maynard slept badly that night. He had a horrible nightmare. Three times he dreamed that a dead man had gripped him by the throat with bony fingers and was slowly choking him.