The Palliser Novels (375 page)

“He may come here if you please.”

“Perhaps I had better go down. He will disturb you.”

“My darling lost one always thought that there should be two present to hear such matters. He said it was safer.” Mr. Camperdown, junior, was therefore shown upstairs to Mrs. Bonteen’s drawing-room.

“We have found it all out, Lady Eustace,” said Mr. Camperdown.

“Found out what?”

“We’ve got Madame Mealyus over here.”

“No!” said Mrs. Bonteen, with her hands raised. Lady Eustace sat silent, with her mouth open.

“Yes, indeed; — and photographs of the registry of the marriage from the books of the synagogue at Cracow. His signature was Yosef Mealyus, and his handwriting isn’t a bit altered. I think we could have proved it without the lady; but of course it was better to bring her if possible.”

“Where is she?” asked Lizzie, thinking that she would like to see her own predecessor.

“We have her safe, Lady Eustace. She’s not in custody; but as she can’t speak a word of English or French, she finds it more comfortable to be kept in private. We’re afraid it will cost a little money.”

“Will she swear that she is his wife?” asked Mrs. Bonteen.

“Oh, yes; there’ll be no difficulty about that. But her swearing alone mightn’t be enough.”

“Surely that settles it all,” said Lady Eustace.

“For the money that we shall have to pay,” said Mr. Camperdown, “we might probably have got a dozen Bohemian ladies to come and swear that they were married to Yosef Mealyus at Cracow. The difficulty has been to bring over documentary evidence which will satisfy a jury that this is the woman she says she is. But I think we’ve got it.”

“And I shall be free!” said Lady Eustace, clasping her hands together.

“It will cost a good deal, I fear,” said Mr. Camperdown.

“But I shall be free! Oh, Mr. Camperdown, there is not a woman in all the world who cares so little for money as I do. But I shall be free from the power of that horrid man who has entangled me in the meshes of his sinful life.” Mr. Camperdown told her that he thought that she would be free, and went on to say that Yosef Mealyus had already been arrested, and was again in prison. The unfortunate man had not therefore long enjoyed that humbler apartment which he had found for himself in Jellybag Street.

When Mr. Camperdown went, Mrs. Bonteen followed him out to the top of the stairs. “You have heard about the trial, Mr. Camperdown?” He said that he knew that it was to take place at the Central Criminal Court in June. “Yes; I don’t know why they have put it off so long. People know that he did it — eh?” Mr. Camperdown, with funereal sadness, declared that he had never looked into the matter. “I cannot understand that everybody should not know it,” said Mrs. Bonteen.

There was a scene in the private room of Mr. Wickerby, the attorney in Hatton Garden, which was very distressing indeed to the feelings of Lord Fawn, and which induced his lordship to think that he was being treated without that respect which was due to him as a peer and a member of the Government. There were present at this scene Mr. Chaffanbrass, the old barrister, Mr. Wickerby himself, Mr. Wickerby’s confidential clerk, Lord Fawn, Lord Fawn’s solicitor, — that same Mr. Camperdown whom we saw in the last chapter calling upon Lady Eustace, — and a policeman. Lord Fawn had been invited to attend, with many protestations of regret as to the trouble thus imposed upon him, because the very important nature of the evidence about to be given by him at the forthcoming trial seemed to render it expedient that some questions should be asked. This was on Tuesday, the 22nd June, and the trial was to be commenced on the following Thursday. And there was present in the room, very conspicuously, an old heavy grey great coat, as to which Mr. Wickerby had instructed Mr. Chaffanbrass that evidence was forthcoming, if needed, to prove that that coat was lying on the night of the murder in a downstairs room in the house in which Yosef Mealyus was then lodging. The reader will remember the history of the coat. Instigated by Madame Goesler, who was still absent from England, Mr. Wickerby had traced the coat, and had purchased the coat, and was in a position to prove that this very coat was the coat which Mr. Meager had brought home with him to Northumberland Street on that day. But Mr. Wickerby was of opinion that the coat had better not be used. “It does not go far enough,” said Mr. Wickerby. “It don’t go very far, certainly,” said Mr. Chaffanbrass. “And if you try to show that another man has done it, and he hasn’t,” said Mr. Wickerby, “it always tells against you with a jury.” To this Mr. Chaffanbrass made no reply, preferring to form his own opinion, and to keep it to himself when formed. But in obedience to his instructions, Lord Fawn was asked to attend at Mr. Wickerby’s chambers, in the cause of truth, and the coat was brought out on the occasion. “Was that the sort of coat the man wore, my lord?” said Mr. Chaffanbrass as Mr. Wickerby held up the coat to view. Lord Fawn walked round and round the coat, and looked at it very carefully before he would vouchsafe a reply. “You see it is a grey coat,” said Mr. Chaffanbrass, not speaking at all in the tone which Mr. Wickerby’s note had induced Lord Fawn to expect.

“It is grey,” said Lord Fawn.

“Perhaps it’s not the same shade of grey, Lord Fawn. You see, my lord, we are most anxious not to impute guilt where guilt doesn’t lie. You are a witness for the Crown, and, of course, you will tell the Crown lawyers all that passes here. Were it possible, we would make this little preliminary inquiry in their presence; — but we can hardly do that. Mr. Finn’s coat was a very much smaller coat.”

“I should think it was,” said his lordship, who did not like being questioned about coats.

“You don’t think the coat the man wore when you saw him was a big coat like that? You think he wore a little coat?”

“He wore a grey coat,” said Lord Fawn.

“This is grey; — a coat shouldn’t be greyer than that.”

“I don’t think Lord Fawn should be asked any more questions on the matter till he gives his evidence in court,” said Mr. Camperdown.

“A man’s life depends on it, Mr. Camperdown,” said the barrister. “It isn’t a matter of cross-examination. If I bring that coat into court I must make a charge against another man by the very act of doing so. And I will not do so unless I believe that other man to be guilty. It’s an inquiry I can’t postpone till we are before the jury. It isn’t that I want to trump up a case against another man for the sake of extricating my client on a false issue. Lord Fawn doesn’t want to hang Mr. Finn if Mr. Finn be not guilty.”

“God forbid!” said his lordship.

“Mr. Finn couldn’t have worn that coat, or a coat at all like it.”

“What is it you do want to learn, Mr. Chaffanbrass?” asked Mr. Camperdown.

“Just put on the coat, Mr. Scruby.” Then at the order of the barrister, Mr. Scruby, the attorney’s clerk, did put on Mr. Meager’s old great coat, and walked about the room in it. “Walk quick,” said Mr. Chaffanbrass; — and the clerk did “walk quick.” He was a stout, thick-set little man, nearly half a foot shorter than Phineas Finn. “Is that at all like the figure?” asked Mr. Chaffanbrass.

“I think it is like the figure,” said Lord Fawn.

“And like the coat?”

“It’s the same colour as the coat.”

“You wouldn’t swear it was not the coat?”

“I am not on my oath at all, Mr. Chaffanbrass.”

“No, my lord; — but to me your word is as good as your oath. If you think it possible that was the coat — “

“I don’t think anything about it at all. When Mr. Scruby hurries down the room in that way he looks as the man looked when he was hurrying under the lamp-post. I am not disposed to say any more at present.”

“It’s a matter of regret to me that Lord Fawn should have come here at all,” said Mr. Camperdown, who had been summoned to meet his client at the chambers, but had come with him.

“I suppose his lordship wishes us to know all that he knew, seeing that it’s a question of hanging the right man or the wrong one. I never heard such trash in my life. Take it off, Mr. Scruby, and let the policeman keep it. I understand Lord Fawn to say that the man’s figure was about the same as yours. My client, I believe, stands about twelve inches taller. Thank you, my lord; — we shall get at the truth at last, I don’t doubt.” It was afterwards said that Mr. Chaffanbrass’s conduct had been very improper in enticing Lord Fawn to Mr. Wickerby’s chambers; but Mr. Chaffanbrass never cared what any one said. “I don’t know that we can make much of it,” he said, when he and Mr. Wickerby were alone, “but it may be as well to bring it into court. It would prove nothing against the Jew even if that fellow,” — he meant Lord Fawn, — “could be made to swear that the coat worn was exactly similar to this. I am thinking now about the height.”

“I don’t doubt but you’ll get him off.”

“Well; — I may do so. They ought not to hang any man on such evidence as there is against him, even though there were no moral doubt of his guilt. There is nothing really to connect Mr. Phineas Finn with the murder, — nothing tangible. But there is no saying nowadays what a jury will do. Juries depend a great deal more on the judge than they used to do. If I were on trial for my life, I don’t think I’d have counsel at all.”

“No one could defend you as well as yourself, Mr. Chaffanbrass.”

“I didn’t mean that. No; — I shouldn’t defend myself. I should say to the judge, ‘My lord, I don’t doubt the jury will do just as you tell them, and you’ll form your own opinion quite independent of the arguments’.”

“You’d be hung, Mr. Chaffanbrass.”

“No; I don’t know that I should,” said Mr. Chaffanbrass, slowly. “I don’t think I could affront a judge of the present day into hanging me. They’ve too much of what I call thick-skinned honesty for that. It’s the temper of the time to resent nothing, — to be mealy-mouthed and mealy-hearted. Jurymen are afraid of having their own opinion, and almost always shirk a verdict when they can.”

“But we do get verdicts.”

“Yes; the judge gives them. And they are mealy-mouthed verdicts, tending to equalise crime and innocence, and to make men think that after all it may be a question whether fraud is violence, which, after all, is manly, and to feel that we cannot afford to hate dishonesty. It was a bad day for the commercial world, Mr. Wickerby, when forgery ceased to be capital.”

“It was a horrid thing to hang a man for writing another man’s name to a receipt for thirty shillings.”

“We didn’t do it, but the fact that the law held certain frauds to be hanging matters operated on the minds of men in regard to all fraud. What with the joint-stock working of companies, and the confusion between directors who know nothing and managers who know everything, and the dislike of juries to tread upon people’s corns, you can’t punish dishonest trading.
Caveat emptor
is the only motto going, and the worst proverb that ever came from dishonest stony-hearted Rome. With such a motto as that to guide us no man dare trust his brother.
Caveat lex
, — and let the man who cheats cheat at his peril.”

“You’d give the law a great deal to do.”

“Much less than at present. What does your
Caveat emptor
come to? That every seller tries to pick the eyes out of the head of the purchaser. Sooner or later the law must interfere, and
Caveat emptor
falls to the ground. I bought a horse the other day; my daughter wanted something to look pretty, and like an old ass as I am I gave a hundred and fifty pounds for the brute. When he came home he wasn’t worth a feed of corn.”

“You had a warranty, I suppose?”

“No, indeed! Did you ever hear of such an old fool?”

“I should have thought any dealer would have taken him back for the sake of his character.”

“Any dealer would; but — I bought him of a gentleman.”

“Mr. Chaffanbrass!”

“I ought to have known better, oughtn’t I?
Caveat emptor
.”

“It was just giving away your money, you know.”

“A great deal worse than that. I could have given the — gentleman — a hundred and fifty pounds, and not have minded it much. I ought to have had the horse killed, and gone to a dealer for another. Instead of that, — I went to an attorney.”

“Oh, Mr. Chaffanbrass; — the idea of your going to an attorney.”

“I did then. I never had so much honest truth told me in my life.”

“By an attorney!”

“He said that he did think I’d been born long enough to have known better than that! I pleaded on my own behalf that the gentleman said the horse was all right. ‘Gentleman!’ exclaimed my friend. ‘You go to a gentleman for a horse; you buy a horse from a gentleman without a warranty; and then you come to me! Didn’t you ever hear of
Caveat emptor
, Mr. Chaffanbrass? What can I do for you?’ That’s what my friend, the attorney, said to me.”

“And what came of it, Mr. Chaffanbrass? Arbitration, I should say?”

“Just that; — with the horse eating his head off every meal at ever so much per week, — till at last I fairly gave in from sheer vexation. So the — gentleman — got my money, and I added something to my stock of experience. Of course, that’s only my story, and it may be that the gentleman could tell it another way. But I say that if my story be right the doctrine of
Caveat emptor
does not encourage trade. I don’t know how we got to all this from Mr. Finn. I’m to see him to-morrow.”

“Yes; — he is very anxious to speak to you.”

“What’s the use of it, Wickerby? I hate seeing a client. — What comes of it?”

“Of course he wants to tell his own story.”

“But I don’t want to hear his own story. What good will his own story do me? He’ll tell me either one of two things. He’ll swear he didn’t murder the man — “

“That’s what he’ll say.”

“Which can have no effect upon me one way or the other; or else he’ll say that he did, — which would cripple me altogether.”

“He won’t say that, Mr. Chaffanbrass.”

“There’s no knowing what they’ll say. A man will go on swearing by his God that he is innocent, till at last, in a moment of emotion, he breaks down, and out comes the truth. In such a case as this I do not in the least want to know the truth about the murder.”