The point raised by the district attorney having been ruled upon and sustained by the court, Mr. Moffat made no effort to carry his inquiries any further in the direction indicated; but I could see, with all my inexperience of the law and the ways of attorneys before a jury, that the episode had produced its inevitable result, and that my position, as a man released from suspicion, had received a shock, the results of which I might yet be made to feel.
A moment's pause followed, during which some of Mr. Moffat's nervousness returned. He eyed the prisoner doubtfully, found him stoical and as self-contained as at the beginning of his examination, and plunged into a topic which most people had expected him to avoid. I certainly had, and felt all the uncertainty and secret alarm which an unexpected move occasions where the issue is momentous with life or death. I was filled with terror, not for the man on trial, but for my secret. Was it shared by the defence? Was Mr. Moffat armed with the knowledge I thought confined to myself and Arthur? Had the latter betrayed the cause I had been led to believe he was ready to risk his life to defend? Had I mistaken his gratitude to myself; or had I underrated Mr. Moffat's insight or powers of persuasion? We had just been made witness to one triumph on the part of this able lawyer in a quarter deemed unassailable by the prosecution. Were we about to be made witnesses of another? I felt the sweat start on my forehead, and was only able to force myself into some show of self-possession by the evident lack of perfect assurance with which this same lawyer now addressed his client.
The topic which had awakened in me these doubts and consequent agitation will appear from the opening question.
"Mr. Cumberland, to return to the night of your sister's death. Can you tell us what overcoat you put on when leaving your house?"
Arthur was as astonished and certainly as disconcerted, if not as seriously alarmed, as I was, by this extraordinary move. Surprise, anger, then some deeper feeling rang in his voice as he replied:
"I cannot. I took down the first I saw and the first hat."
The emphasis placed on the last three words may have been meant as a warning to his audacious counsel, but if so, it was not heeded.
"Took down? Took down from where?"
"From the rack in the hall where I hang my things; the side hall leading to the door where we usually go out."
"Have you many coats—overcoats, I mean?"
"More than one."
"And you do not know which one you put on that cold night?"
"I do not."
"But you know what one you wore back?"
"No."
Short, sharp, and threatening was this no. A war was on between this man and his counsel, and the wonder it occasioned was visible in every eye. Perhaps Mr. Moffat realised this; this was what he had dreaded, perhaps. At all events, he proceeded with his strange task, in apparent oblivion of everything but his own purpose.
"You do not know what one you wore back?"
"I do not."
"You have seen the hat and coat which have been shown here and sworn to as being the ones in which you appeared on your return to the house, the day following your sister's murder?"
"I have."
"Also the hat and coat found on a remote hook in the closet under the stairs, bearing the flour-mark on its under brim?"
"Yes, that too."
"Yet cannot say which of these two overcoats you put on when you left your home, an hour or so after finishing your dinner?"
Trapped by his own lawyer—visibly and remorselessly trapped! The blood, shooting suddenly into the astounded prisoner's face, was reflected on the cheeks of the other lawyers present. Even Mr. Fox betrayed his surprise; but it was a surprise not untinged by apprehension. Mr. Moffat must feel very sure of himself to venture thus far. I, who feared to ask myself the cause of this assurance, could only wait and search the partially visible face of little Ella for an enlightenment, which was no more to be found there than in the swollen features of the outraged Arthur. The excitement which this event caused, afforded the latter some few moments in which to quell his own indignation; and when he spoke, it was passionately, yet not without some effort at restraint.
"I cannot. I was in no condition to notice. I was bent on going into town, and immediately upon coming downstairs went straight to the rack and pulled on the first things that offered."
It appeared to be a perfect give-a-way. And it was, but it was a give-a-way which, I feared, threatened Carmel rather than her brother.
Mr. Moffat, still nervous, still avoiding the prisoner's eye, relentlessly pursued his course, unmindful—wilfully so, it appeared—of the harm he was doing himself, as well as the witness.
"Mr. Cumberland, were a coat and hat all that you took from that hall?"
"No, I took a key—a key from the bunch which I saw lying on the table."
"Did you recognise this key?"
"I did."
"What key was it?"
"It belonged to Mr. Ranelagh, and was the key to the club-house wine-vault."
"Where did you put it after taking it up?"
"In my trousers' pocket."
"What did you do then?"
"Went out, of course."
"Without seeing anybody?"
"Of course. Whom should I see?"
It was angrily said, and the flush, which had begun to die away, slowly made its way back into his cheeks.
"Are you willing to repeat that you saw no one?"
"There was no one."
A lie! All knew it, all felt it. The man was perjuring himself, under his own counsel's persistent questioning on a point which that counsel had evidently been warned by him to avoid. I was assured of this by the way Moffat failed to meet Arthur's eye, as he pressed on hastily, and in a way to forestall all opposition.
"There are two ways of leaving your house for the city. Which way did you take?"
"The shortest. I went through my neighbour's grounds to Huested Street."
"Immediately?"
"As soon as I could. I don't know what you mean by immediately."
"Didn't you stop at the stable?"
A pause, during which more than one person present sat breathless. These questions were what might be expected from Mr. Fox in cross-examination. They seemed totally unsuited to a direct examination at the hands of his own counsel. What did such an innovation mean?
"Yes, I stopped at the stable."
"What to do?"
"To look at the horses."
"Why?"
"One of them had gone lame. I wanted to see his condition."
"Was it the grey mare?"
Had the defence changed places with the prosecution? It looked like it; and Arthur looked as if he considered Mr. Moffat guilty of the unheard of, inexplainable act, of cross-examining his own witness. The situation was too tempting for Mr. Fox to resist calling additional attention to it. With an assumption of extreme consideration, he leaned forward and muttered under his breath to his nearest colleague, but still loud enough for those about him to hear: