A Breaker of Laws/Chapter 17

by W. Pett Ridge

 

CHAPTER XVII

Interesting scene in the court below. He contemplated it as one looks at the play from a box on the first tier. The man near to him in dark-belted uniform had told him that he could sit down now if he pleased, but he preferred to stand and rest his chin on the wooden ledge. He felt content with the situation, for downstairs he had had an interview with the solicitor instructing Mellish—that was young Mellish below there in the second row of pews, looking wise in his barrister's wig, as though there were no such things as a little villa at Denmark Hill and a cheerful, romping young wife to play bat-and-ball with on a lawn at the back—and an interview with Finnis (Finnis out of view in the tightly-packed triangular crowd at the corner entrance), and each had assured him that Caroline had no knowledge of his arrest, and so far as lay within the powers of themselves and Dowton, knowledge should be kept from her. Miss Ladd joined the men in the secret, but Miss Ladd in regard to a secret was as good as a man. A terrible steamboat accident occupied nearly all the space in the daily journals; Alfred's trial, if reported at all, would be noticed briefly with the inaccuracies that usually attend such reporting. At the police-court hearing an economical press-man had written the name as Bates. Excellent luck!

The shaft of autumn sunlight came from the high windows above the heads of the jury (now turning to each other in consultation), illuminating the principal actors in precisely the way that the limelight used to concentrate itself on the leading man in melodramas at the Greenwich Theatre. They were all down there in the well of the court, the white-haired railway detective, now looking grave excepting when he remembered that he would presently, in his capacity as the railway company's representative, have the privilege of offering lunch to other detectives at the company's expense; the boy carman, positively scowling with importance, and slightly annoyed at not having been allowed an encore for his evidence, and thus giving it all over again; the railway porter, half in uniform and half in mufti, who had furnished the low-comedy element, and still repeated from mere force of habit the statements he had made from the small pulpit there to the left of the judge ('He comes to me, and he takes me off me guard by saying, "Ullo, Jimmy, old sort, are my goods up yet?" Whereupon I turns round, and I says——'); the foreign witnesses imported hastily from Switzerland, including an old, old man in a black velvet jacket from Le Fleurier, who had formally identified certain of the watches ('Je les ai fabriquées, monseigneur, moi et mes hommes'); the burly packer from Basle who had placed them in the cases, and identified the cases; the consignee in London (who was the young carman's master, and at the end of whose evidence the young carman offered applause, thereby rendering himself liable to expulsion from the court, but insuring safe continuance in his situation); the waxed-moustached interpreter, who had informed his lordship when the Swiss witnesses had answered questions affirmatively that oui meant 'yes,' and that in the opposite case non might be taken as equivalent of 'no,' doing it all with the air of a sage diplomatist who knew secrets denied to other men. Dowton held the samples of watches; one of his colleagues nursed the set of furs which Alfred had intended for Caroline. She would never wear furs now.

There was a general scent of new clothes in the place; it seemed as though everybody had put on their best in honour of the occasion. Miss Ladd down in the triangle of people wore a new hat, but Miss Ladd spoilt her appearance by weeping silently. Now, Miss Ladd seldom cried.

Somebody had said that it was chilly outside, but here it felt warm and comfortable enough. The sun deflected its light and touched the bewigged head of his lordship, who, taking up an illustrated journal at which he bad been glancing, screened his eyes from the insurgent rays. The sheriff in his robes leaned towards his lordship and seemingly apologized on behalf of the City for the action of the sun, but his lordship appeared to beg the sheriff not to mention it. His lordship looked round now and again from the side of his screen at the consulting jurymen, and sighed as he observed that two of the members at either end of the second row were bent on contradicting each other, the endeavours of the foreman and the others being strained in the effort at conciliation. Counsel in the next case on the list, giving up gestures of impatience, nestled back in his seat, yawned at the ceiling, and affected to compose himself to sleep. To Alfred it appeared that there was no necessity for hurry. The time had seemed very short since his arrest. The time had indeed been short, for although he had pleaded not guilty all the way through, no evidence had been called for his defence, and his committal had immediately preceded the opening of the Sessions. Since the important difficulty of concealing the truth from Caroline had been arranged, nothing really mattered. There was no reason for haste. Perhaps they would defer sentence.

He had not yet tried to predict the length of his sentence, nor had he troubled to decide on the course of action to be pursued upon his release; there would, in all truth, be time enough to think of that. But vaguely he now thought in regard to the first question—say two years. In regard to the second—say a return to Caroline as one fresh from a foreign land with an ingenious explanation for which he could rely upon his alert Cockney brain. He was full of optimistic thoughts this morning. Perhaps the pleasant, wigged gentleman opposite, shaded by the illustrated journal, would only give him twelve months. After all, they had regained the whole of the property; sensible people would have been content to look upon the affair as a mere practical joke that had injured no one. He caught Mellish's gaze as that young barrister glanced up, and he winked, but young Mellish looked grave and did not reciprocate this intimation of confidence and lightness of heart.

The two disputant jurymen were conciliated now, and their attitude to each other because one of such determined abdication of opinion that eagerness to give way threatened to take as much time as antagonism had done. But presently the foreman coughed and stood up at his corner of the box. The man in the barrister's wig seated below the judge rose, and was about to put a question when one of the disputant jurymen leaned forward and tapped the foreman on the shoulder. The foreman sat down promptly and argued with his colleague. The judge sighed again.

A youth at the back of the solicitors' seat was finishing some sketches. Alfred noticed that he did not trouble him, and that perhaps was just as well; he would not have liked his portrait to have been in the Sunday papers, for although it would not have resembled him, the risk of information reaching Caroline would have been increased. Poor Caroline! But for her and the boy, he would not have cared in the least; the thought that he would not see her, would not listen to her pleasant Devonshire voice, would not be near to her for perhaps twelve months, chilled him and made a lump come in his throat. He choked it down and forced himself to think of more cheerful subjects. What an excellent joke it would be if he were let off! He went out with flying colours before, and—but there, of course, he was not the right man, and now he was the right man. Still, you never knew what the law might do, and the contentious party in the jury-box, although now reduced to one, was a contentious party; if Alfred got off, he would find that man and give him a long drink and a big cigar at the hotel outside in the Old Bailey. And that very evening he would step out at Westgate Station, go into the quiet seaside town, and walk Birchington way to call on Caroline at the Home as though nothing had happened. How she would kiss him when she heard of all that be had again gone through! how Trafalgy would be made to clap his chubby little hands!

'Gentlemen!'—he swerved round sharply at the sound of the clerk's voice—'are you agreed upon your verdict?'

'We are.'

'Do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?'

'We find him guilty.'

Very well, then; no Westgate. It could not be helped. What was to be would be.

'And that is the verdict of you all?'

'That is the verdict of us all.'

A rustling of papers. Young Mellish hitches his stuff gown forward, and half rises.

'My lord, may I address your lordship?' His lordship nods, and young Mellish stands upright. 'I shall be very brief, my lord, but I am anxious to appeal to your lordship in this case for clemency. The prisoner, my client, has, I am instructed, for some time past—during, indeed, the whole of his married life—been occupied in honest work and industrious occupation. The police will tell your lordship that there is no previous conviction against the prisoner; he is not one of these confirmed criminals whose sentence is prefaced by the appearance in that box of a list of bad records, read out by a warder. I should like to call one witness as to character, and I will say no more in appealing to your lordship's indulgence, except to remark that my client's wife has been for the past three weeks seriously ill.'

'They never told me,' he muttered, and held his head down.

'Even now she is not far removed from those gates which open sooner or later to receive us all into another world.'

His head still bent down; he felt something splash upon his hands.

'Call Mr. William Finnis.'

William Finnis, going up the narrow stairs to the pulpit with his face set and very serious, said in answer to young Mellish's questions that he had known Alfred Bateson nearly all his life; they had stayed away from the same Board School together. And had he always been a respectable law-abiding man, so far as Mr. Finnis's knowledge went? Always. Finnis looked hard at the sword over the judge's head as he made this reply. And was it a fact that he had been working for some considerable time in the employ of Mr. Finnis? and had his conduct there been exemplary? Certainly. And Mr. Finnis would have trusted him with any sum of money—would have placed unlimited confidence in him? Most decidedly. And when the prisoner's term of imprisonment should be completed, was it a fact that Mr. Finnis would be ready to take him back into his employment?

'Whenever he is free from the law,' said William Finnis, bringing his glance slowly round to the man of whom he was speaking, but that man did not raise his head, 'then he'll be free to take up his old work, and I shall welcome him.'

'Thank you, Mr. Finnis; that will do.'

'Alfred Bateson!'

'Stand up and face the judge,' growled the warder.

Head up now, and seeing the judge and the sheriff and the bouquets confused and swimmingly; lips compressed, and breath coming short and quick; eyes better after a moment's pause, and able to perceive everything with clearness; brain resuming normal power of calculation.

'Alfred Bateson, you have been found guilty by the jury after, I think, sufficient consideration'—his lordship bowed the ironical compliment to his left—'of the crime which has been charged against you. Perhaps I may as well review the circumstances——'

All over again? Surely this was unnecessary. He was anxious now, fiercely anxious, to get it finished—to go down the steps and start on this twelve months, or whatever the term was to be.

'Daring and determined robbery carried out single-handed, with a frank impudence that is really almost diverting.'

Was there not a First Offenders Act? He had never been convicted before; perhaps he would be let off this time, severely warned and bound over to appear if called upon to do so. If that happened, he would never doubt his luck again. There was a place near the Old Bailey where they sold a most admirable glass of beer and a twopenny cigar which the advertisement ambiguously declared to be the Dismay of London. He would take William Finnis in there; Finnis deserved some recognition of all his goodness. Even if the worst came, he could always rely upon Finnis keeping his word and behaving as an honourable man in looking after Caroline and Trafalgar. Luck again, to have such a sound, honest chum as Finnis.

'Drove up to the station depot and demanded, with great coolness and effrontery, the goods from Switzerland, consigned to the firm of——'

Pleasant to hear a tone almost of admiration from the judge speaking across the well of the court in a conversational manner. He could see clearly the mistakes he had made in the affair; he should have found a buyer first before embarking on the enterprise, and have driven the goods straight to a hiding-place selected by the buyer. Then be could have tripped away from the incident, and kept away, and his responsibility would not have been engaged. If he went free from this, and if he ever embarked upon anything of the kind again——

'Whereupon you conveyed them to a stable or an outhouse which (so far as I can gather from the evidence) had been previously used by a man not altogether unknown to the police of the neighbourhood. I think this suggests that you were not, if I may say so, an amateur.'

Bad form surely to refer to poor old Ladd. Old Ladd was dead. Why go out of the way to lug him in? Ladd was a marvel in his particular line of business; if he had been alive and had been associated in this watch affair, it would have worked as smoothly as butter. He would try to get down to Honor Oak as soon as possible to put a few flowers on old Ladd's grave. The tombstone said, 'honoured and respected.' Wonder whether Heaven was ever bluffed by tombstone inscriptions—whether a man referred to them as a testimonial of character? Old Ladd was so deep that it seemed quite likely he had managed on some ingenious plea to escape punishment in the next world. There was no one quite like your Londoner for getting out of tight places.

'Thanks, however, to the cleverness of the detectives who have had charge of the case, the whole of the property——'

Cleverness be hanged! Nothing clever in listening to an old woman and in acting on the information which she gave. There was too much undeserved praise for these detectives; they were only ordinary men, and without the narks they could do nothing. Painful to see a clear-headed, well-spoken gentleman like the judge opposite led into the popular error of assuming that the detectives of real life were like the detectives of books.

'I am quite ready to give due weight to the appeal that your counsel has made on your behalf. I do not overlook the fact—I take it to be a fact—that you have during the last two or three years—that is to say, during your married life—conducted yourself in the manner of a law-abiding citizen, and——'

That was the best of having a good character. A man never knew when it might come in useful; it counted tremendously with these legal people. It was going to stand him in good stead now. This business would chip it slightly; necessary immediately upon his release to set about repairing it and making it as good as new. With a good character, a man could go anywhere and do anything. To-night at Westgate he would urge this to Caroline in extenuation of his slip. It would be easy in repeating to her the judge's remarks to insinuate a compliment, so that her eyes should lighten and sparkle with the delight that she had always—bless her!—shown when something had happened to his credit. He would nurse her and amuse her back to good health; the boy and he could always make her laugh.

'And the decision I have come to is this, Alfred Bateson——'

Been a deuce of a time about it, too. Enough to make one tired of the sound of the refined, amiable voice.

'That you under a punishment of—er—ah—seven years' penal servitude.'

'Seven years,' repeated the warder sharply. 'Come along.'

He stumbled down the stairs. Above he could hear the rustling of papers, respectful suggestion by the prosecuting counsel, snatches of the reply of his lordship.

'Certainly; I commend Detective-sergeant Dowton—most clever capture—attention of his superiors.'

'Seven years!' muttered Alfred Bateson» swaying to and fro. 'It's a bit steep.'

'You'll have nice time to think,' replied the warder cheerfully. 'Limmer, old man, hurry up with Twelve, and—hold up here! hold up, young un, hold up! You mustn't go fallin' all over the place like this.'