Inspector Stoddart's Most Famous Cases. Annie Haynes

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      "Zis is for zis gentleman much too big. See, it fastens here and here. You clip it so and so," twisting it about and fixing it on Wilton's face. "But it is big, much too big. Everybody see at once zat it is not growing, zat it is what you call mock. No, no, no! It was not made for zis gentleman. But now, now I do think I see ze gentleman. He sit dere." He pointed an accusing finger at the row of counsel not engaged in the case, but listening to it in the seats reserved for them in the front of the court. Conspicuous among them was Sir Felix Skrine. Picquet finally pointed directly at him.

      "Zat—zat is ze man," he announced dramatically.

      Sir Felix Skrine! A laugh, instantly suppressed, ran round the court. Sir Felix appeared to be absolutely unmoved. A faint smile curved his lips as he looked at Westerham. There he sat with his arms folded, gazing straight before him. Arnold Westerham shrugged his shoulders and moved his hand as if to brush the suggestion aside.

      Mr. Justice Ruthven interposed.

      "Witness, do I understand that you swear positively that the prisoner at the bar is not the man for whom you made the beard?"

      Pierre Picquet turned himself about and bowed profoundly.

      "Yes, my lord, it is so. I have never seen de young gentleman there"—pointing again to Basil Wilton—"I have never seen him before."

      Nothing more was to be got out of Pierre Picquet, and Westerham signified that his examination was over.

      The closing speech for the prosecution was little more than a recapitulation of the evidence that had been given. And the Attorney-General pointed out that, though Pierre Picquet positively swore that Basil Wilton was not the man for whom he made the beards originally, there was nothing to have prevented them from coming into Wilton's possession later through some other channel.

      The judge's summing-up was a clear, masterly presentment of the case, brushing aside every irrelevance that had been imported into it, and pointing out to the jury that they were there to say whether the prisoner at the bar had murdered his wife or not and that no other issue must be confused with this. The beard, of which so much capital had been made by the defence, was not really of much importance in the case, since its only connexion with the murder lay in the few words written in the blotting-book and the beard found in the bag at the railway station, and there was no definite proof that either bag or beard was ever at the flat in Hawksview Mansions. It was a very fair, passionless summing up, but it made it plain that the weight of evidence was against the prisoner; and, when with a few solemn words about the gravity and importance of their task he dismissed the jury to consider their verdict, there were few people in court who did not feel that Basil Wilton's fate was sealed.

      With a bow to the court Mr. Justice Ruthven retired to his room behind the Bench, the jury—ten men and two women—filed out of court, their faces showing that they were oppressed by the magnitude of the duty that lay before them.

      The prisoner was taken to the cells beneath.

      A momentary silence fell upon the spectators, and then they began to discuss the probable result of the trial, the general opinion being that Basil Wilton would be found guilty without any long delay. Therefore when the minutes passed into an hour, then into two, there was a general feeling of surprise. Once the jury sent to ask the judge a question about a point of law, and when it was answered resumed their deliberations. When at last they were heard returning it was realized that they had been absent nearly three hours.

      The judge took his place, the prisoner was brought back, and the scene was set for the final act of the tragedy, when the foreman intimated to the judge that they had been unable to agree upon a verdict.

      A deep, crimson flush stained the prisoner's face.

      Mr. Justice Ruthven frowned heavily as he looked at the foreman.

      "Do I understand that there is no chance of your agreeing?"

      "None at all, my lord," the foreman answered decidedly.

      The judge paused a moment.

      "Is there any difficulty in which I can help you?"

      "No, my lord, I am afraid not." The foreman paused a moment, then he said: "We are five for acquitting the prisoner, and seven against. There appears to be no possibility whatever of either side giving way."

      The judge raised his eyebrows as he directed the prisoner to be taken back to the cells, and made an order for a new trial. The spectators poured out with a feeling of having been deprived of the sensation to which they had been looking forward.

      Arnold Westerham turned to speak to his colleagues.

      Inspector Stoddart rose from the back bench where he had been sitting, with a word to Harbord, then turned through a side door into the wide corridor running the length of the court behind the judge's room. A quiet-looking, little man wearing a large pair of smoke-coloured, horn-rimmed glasses followed him out and stood back with Harbord while several of the counsel who had been engaged on the case, with others who had been spectators, stopped to speak to the inspector.

      Among them came Sir Felix Skrine. He smiled as he caught Stoddart's eye.

      "I cannot congratulate you on the intelligence of your Swiss witness, inspector."

      The inspector smiled too.

      "No, he made rather a hash of it, didn't he?"

      "Anyway, it is a most unsatisfactory ending,"

      Sir Felix concluded. "A terrible ordeal for Wilton to undergo a second time, poor fellow."

      "Terrible indeed!" the inspector assented. Then as Skrine passed on, he turned sharply to the man with Harbord. "Well, what do you say, Mr. Rendal?"

      The little man took off his horn-rimmed glasses, replacing them with a pair of pince-nez, and became at once again the dapper chemist of Neith Street.

      "Yes, inspector," he said at last. "It is as I thought, as I felt sure it would turn out. That is Mr. William Taylor. I could not be mistaken, seeing him so near."

      "I am much obliged to you, Mr. Rendal. It is late, but we have very little time, and I want you to come with me. You too, Harbord. The new trial will probably come on in about a fortnight, and before then—"

      "Before then?" Harbord echoed.

      "We must be in a position to put the real criminal in the dock. We must see Sir George Jevons to-night."

      "Sir George Jevons!" Rendal repeated in a tone almost of awe. "You mean in Wilmop Street?"

      The inspector nodded.

      "The greatest living authority on toxicology. I shall want you, Mr. Rendal, and I have some very exhaustive notes of the late Dr. Bastow's on one of his cases. Then I think, when Sir George Jevons hears what we have to say, we shall have a certain application to make to the Home Office, and things will begin to hum."

      Chapter XXIII

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