The Old Man in the Corner | Page 7

first blow to the case against the accused. It was a pretty
stiff one, you will admit. Already it had begun to collapse like a house
of cards. Still, there was the assignation, and the undisputed meeting
between Smethurst and Kershaw, and those two and a half hours of a
foggy evening to satisfactorily account for."
The man in the corner made a long pause, keeping the girl on
tenterhooks. He had fidgeted with his bit of string till there was not an
inch of it free from the most complicated and elaborate knots.
"I assure you," he resumed at last, "that at that very moment the whole
mystery was, to me, as clear as daylight. I only marvelled how his
Honour could waste his time and mine by putting what he thought were
searching questions to the accused relating to his past. Francis
Smethurst, who had quite shaken off his somnolence, spoke with a
curious nasal twang, and with an almost imperceptible soupçon of
foreign accent, He calmly denied Kershaw's version of his past;
declared that he had never been called Barker, and had certainly never
been mixed up in any murder case thirty years ago.
"'But you knew this man Kershaw,' persisted his Honour, 'since you
wrote to him?'
"'Pardon me, your Honour,' said the accused quietly, 'I have never, to
my knowledge, seen this man Kershaw, and I can swear that I never
wrote to him.'
"'Never wrote to him?' retorted his Honour warningly. 'That is a strange
assertion to make when I have two of your letters to him in my hands at
the present moment.'
"'I never wrote those letters, your Honour,' persisted the accused quietly,
'they are not in my handwriting.'
"'Which we can easily prove,' came in Sir Arthur Inglewood's drawly

tones, as he handed up a packet to his Honour; 'here are a number of
letters written by my client since he has landed in this country, and
some of which were written under my very eyes.'
"As Sir Arthur Inglewood had said, this could be easily proved, and the
prisoner, at his Honour's request, scribbled a few lines, together with
his signature, several times upon a sheet of note-paper. It was easy to
read upon the magistrate's astounded countenance, that there was not
the slightest similarity in the two handwritings.
"A fresh mystery had cropped up. Who, then, had made the assignation
with William Kershaw at Fenchurch Street railway station? The
prisoner gave a fairly satisfactory account of the employment of his
time since his landing in England.
"'I came over on the Tsarskoe Selo,' he said, 'a yacht belonging to a
friend of mine. When we arrived at the mouth of the Thames there was
such a dense fog that it was twenty-four hours before it was thought
safe for me to land. My friend, who is a Russian, would not land at all;
he was regularly frightened at this land of fogs. He was going on to
Madeira immediately.
"'I actually landed on Tuesday, the 10th, and took a train at once for
town. I did see to my luggage and a cab, as the porter and driver told
your Honour; then I tried to find my way to a refreshment-room, where
I could get a glass of wine. I drifted into the waiting-room, and there I
was accosted by a shabbily dressed individual, who began telling me a
piteous tale. Who he was I do not know. He said he was an old soldier
who had served his country faithfully, and then been left to starve. He
begged of me to accompany him to his lodgings, where I could see his
wife and starving children, and verify the truth and piteousness of his
tale.
"'Well, your Honour,' added the prisoner with noble frankness, 'it was
my first day in the old country. I had come back after thirty years with
my pockets full of gold, and this was the first sad tale I had heard; but I
am a business man, and did not want to be exactly "done" in the eye. I
followed my man through the fog, out into the streets. He walked

silently by my side for a time. I had not a notion where I was.
"'Suddenly I turned to him with some question, and realized in a
moment that my gentleman had given me the slip. Finding, probably,
that I would not part with my money till I had seen the starving wife
and children, he left me to my fate, and went in search of more willing
bait.
"'The place where I found myself was dismal and deserted. I could see
no trace of cab or omnibus. I retraced my steps and tried to find my
way back to the station, only to find