Ah, there is little hope for William Evans.
I have learned from a neighbour in court the evidence against Evans is purely circumstantial. He has been found in possession of a peculiar key, believed to have belonged to Sir Runan.
Well may they call the case for the prosecution weak.
William must have found that fatal key which Philippa took from the slain man.
On that accident the whole presumption of his guilt is founded.
The Grand Jury (country gentlemen--idiots all!) find a ‘True Bill.’
The clerk reads the indictment that ‘he, William Evans, did feloniously, wilfully, and of malice aforethought, kill and murder Sir Runan Errand, Baronet.’
As the reading goes on Philippa is strangely moved.
‘Basil,’ she whispered, ‘don’t you see the splendid, unequalled chance for an advertisement! I’ll get up and make a speech, and say _I_ did it. Of course they can’t prove it, but it will set every one talking, and bring hundreds of pounds into the house every night.’
I now observed that Philippa had half slipped off her mantle and bonnet. Beneath these coverings she was dressed in wig and gown, like Mrs. Weldon in the photographs.
‘For goodness’ sake, Philippa, _don’t!_’ I whispered.
The clerk turned to William Evans, the prisoner at the Bar.
In the silence a cigarette-ash might have been heard to drop, if any one had been smoking.
The long silence was broken, but not by the prisoner.
Rising to all her stately height, with her flowing robes around her, she stood at bay. Then her clear deep voice rang out:--
‘Order in the court! order in the court!’ cried the ushers.
‘I commit you! I commit you!’ thundered Lord Justice Juggins. ‘Take her away. Five years and hard labour.’
Struggling violently, Philippa was dragged away by the minions of the law.
I notice one visitor turn round, and gaze at the commotion.
Silence has scarcely been restored, when it is again broken.
A manly form rises. A deep voice exclaims:--
‘My lord, the prisoner is innocent. _I_ am the person whom he is said to have murdered.’
The form, the voice--it is Sir Runan Errand!
Again I hear the sharp accents of Mr. Justice Juggins.
‘Is this court a bear-garden or the House of Commons? Take that man out. Give him five years and two dozen lashes.’