Colonel Vero, the
fourth of the tribunal, was drawing angels on his blotting paper. Then
they settled themselves, one of them with a shrug, and Sergeant Weeks told
of the arrest. Accused had declined to make a statement, but had spoken
certain words to his landlady, one Mrs. Broughton, to the effect that what
was to come was "nothing" to what had been done. He had left in her charge
papers, which the Sergeant had afterwards examined, and now had in his
care. This had led to a brief interlude.
Mr. Bazalguet had caught the words. "Papers? What papers?" he asked.
"Newspapers?"
"No, sir," said Sergeant Weeks. "They were writings. Poetry and the like--
and foreign tongues." The bench sat up, and now Glyde had the hawk-look in
his light eyes. Ingram stifled a yawn, and impressed the Bench.
Mr. Bazalguet, inclining his head to either side, enquired only with his
eyebrows. Did we want these papers? Should we, perhaps, for form's sake
examine them? Mr. Max Fortnaby was of opinion that we should. As they were
handed up, the prisoner, who had been wetting his lips, said plainly,
"There's nothing in them about this business," and was reproved by
Sergeant Weeks.
A formidable pile of MS.
Pages:
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206