In the
eyes of the criminal class he was an heroic figure who had assumed the
responsibility of saving the life of one of their fraternity. The eminent
counsel's success in the few criminal cases in which he had consented to
appear had gained him the respectful esteem of those who considered
themselves oppressed by the law, and the spectators on the pavement might
have raised a cheer for him if their exuberance had not been restrained
by the proximity of the policeman guarding the entrance.
When the court was opened Inspector Chippenfield took a seat in the body
of the court behind the barrister's bench. He ranged his eye over the
closely-packed spectators in the gallery, and shook his head with
manifest disapproval. It seemed to him that the worst criminals in London
had managed to elude the vigilance of the sergeant outside in order to
see the trial of their notorious colleague, Fred Birchill. He pointed out
their presence to Rolfe, who was seated alongside him.
"There's that scoundrel Bob Rogers, who slipped through our hands over
the Ealing case, and his pal, Breaker Jim, who's just done seven years,
looking down and grinning at us," he angrily whispered.
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