«I'm damned if I know!» said the solicitor, scratching his head. «It's perfectly hopeless!»
«Oh, dash it all!» cried Malone, «we can't give it up so easily. We know the man is an honest man.»
Mailey turned and grasped Malone's hand.
«I don't know if you call yourself a Spiritualist yet,» he said, «but you are the kind of chap we want. There are too many white-livered folk in our movement who fawn on a medium when all is well, and desert him at the first breath of an accusation But, thank God! there are a few stalwarts. There is Brookes and Rodwin and Sir James Smith. We can put up a hundred or two among us.»
«Right-o!» said the solicitor, cheerily. «If you feel like that we will give you a run for your money.»
«How about a K.C.?»
«Well, they don't plead in police courts. If you'll leave it in my hands I fancy I can do as well as anyone, for I've had a lot of these cases. It will keep the costs down, too.»
«Well, we are with you. And we will have a few good men at our back.»
«If we do nothing else we shall ventilate it,» said Malone.
«I believe in the good old British public. Slow and stupid, but sound at the core. They will not stand for injustice if you can get the truth into their heads.»
«They damned well need trepanning before you can get it there,» said the solicitor. «Well, you do your bit and I'll do mine and we will see what comes of it.»
The fateful morning arrived and Linden found himself in the dock facing a spruce, middle-aged man with rat-trap jaws, Mr. Melrose, the redoubtable police magistrate. Mr. Melrose had a reputation for severity with fortune-tellers and all who foretold the future, though he spent the intervals in his court by reading up the sporting prophets, for he was an ardent follower of the Turf, and his trim, fawn-coloured coat and rakish hat were familiar objects at every race meeting which was within his reach. He was in no particularly good humour this morning as he glanced at the charge-sheet and then surveyed the prisoner. Mrs. Linden had secured a position below the dock, and occasionally extended her hand to pat that of the prisoner which rested on the edge. The court was crowded and many of the prisoner's clients had attended to show their sympathy.
«Is this case defended?» asked Mr. Melrose.
«Yes, your worship,» said Summerway Jones. «May I, before it opens, make an objection?»
«If you think it worth while, Mr. Jones.»
«I beg to respectfully request your ruling before the case is proceeded with. My client is not a vagrant, but a respectable member of the community, living in his own house, paying rates and taxes, and on the same footing as every other citizen. He is now prosecuted under the fourth section of the Vagrancy Act of 1824, which is styled, 'An Act for punishing idle and disorderly persons, and rogues and vagabonds'. The Act was intended, as the words imply, to restrain lawless gipsies and others, who at that time infested the country. I ask your worship to rule that my client is clearly not a person within the purview of this Act or liable to its penalties.»
The magistrate shook his head.
«I fear, Mr. Jones, that there have been too many precedents for the Act to be now interpreted in this limited fashion. I will ask the solicitor prosecuting on behalf of the Commissioner of Police to put forward his evidence.» A little bull of a man with side-whiskers and a raucous voice sprang to his feet.
«I call Henrietta Dresser.»
The elder policewoman popped up in the box with the alacrity of one who is used to it. She held an open notebook in her hand.
«You are a policewoman, are you not?»
«Yes, sir.»
«I understand that you watched the prisoner's home the day before you called on him?»
«Yes, sir.»
«How many people went in?»
«Fourteen, sir.»
«Fourteen people. And I believe the prisoner's average fee is ten and sixpence.»
«Yes.»
«Seven pounds in one day! Pretty good wages when many an honest man is content with five shillings.»
«These were the tradespeople!» cried Linden.
«I must ask you not to interrupt. You are already very efficiently represented» said the magistrate severely.
«Now, Henrietta Dresser,» continued the prosecutor, wagging his pince-nez. «Let's hear what occurred when you and Amy Bellinger visited the prisoner.»
The policewoman gave an account which was in the main true, reading it from her book. She was not a married woman, but the medium had accepted her statement that she was. He had fumbled with several names and had seemed greatly confused. The name of a dog – Pedro had been submitted to him, but he had not recognized it as such. Finally, he had answered questions as to the future of her alleged daughter, who was, in fact, no relation to her, and had foretold that she would be unhappy in her marriage.
«Any questions, Mr. Jones?» asked the magistrate.
«Did you come to this man as one who needed consolation? And did he attempt to give it?»
«I suppose you might put it so.»
«You professed deep grief, I understand.»
«I tried to give that impression.»
«You do not consider that to be hypocrisy?»
«I did what was my duty.»
«You saw no signs of psychic power, or anything abnormal?» asked the prosecutor.
«No, he seemed a very nice, ordinary sort of man.»
Amy Bellinger was the next witness. She appeared with her notebook in her hand.
«May I ask, your worship, whether it is in order that these witnesses should read their evidence?» asked Mr. Jones.
«Why not?» queried the magistrate. «We desire the exact facts» do we not?»
«We do. Possibly Mr. Jones does not,» said the prosecuting solicitor.
«It is clearly a method of securing that the evidence of these two witnesses shall be in accord,» said Jones. «I submit that these accounts are carefully prepared and collated.»
«Naturally, the police prepare their case,» said the magistrate. «I do not see that you have any grievance, Mr. Jones. Now, witness, let us hear your evidence.»
It followed on the exact lines of the other.
«You asked questions about your fiance? You had no fiance,» said Mr. Jones.
«That is so.»
«In fact, you both told a long sequence of lies?»
«With a good object in view.»
«You thought the end justified the means?»
«I carried out my instructions.»
«Which were given you beforehand?»
«Yes, we were told what to ask.»
«I think,» said the magistrate, «that the policewomen have given their evidence very fairly and well. Have you any witnesses for the defence, Mr. Jones?»
«There are a number of people in court, your worship, who have received great benefit from the mediumship of the prisoner. I have subpoenaed one woman who was, by her own account, saved from suicide that very morning by what he told her. I have another man who was an atheist, and had lost all belief in future life. He was completely converted by his experience of psychic phenomena. I can produce men of the highest eminence in science and literature who will testify to the real nature of Mr. Linden's powers.»
The magistrate shook his head.
«You must know, Mr. Jones, that such evidence would be quite beside the question. It has been clearly laid down by the ruling of the Lord Chief Justice and others that the law of this country does not recognize supernatural powers of any sort whatever, and that a pretence of such powers where payment is involved constitutes a crime in itself. Therefore your suggestion that you should call witnesses could not possibly lead to anything save a wasting of the time of the court. At the same time, I am, of course, ready to listen to any observations which you may care to make after the solicitor for the prosecution has spoken.»
«Might I venture to point out, your worship,» said Jones, «that such a ruling would mean the condemnation of any sacred or holy person of whom we have any record, since even holy persons have to live, and have therefore to receive money.»