The Goddess: a Demon
Copyright© 2024 by Richard Marsh
Chapter 19: I Leave the Court
As for the coroner, he was prejudiced against me directly I took up my stand at the table; he being one of those diminutive opuscula who instinctively object to a man who is of a reasonable size. My height has been against me more than once. It placed me at a disadvantage then. There was not a creature present in the room who did not look upon me as a sort of raree-show, and who was not prepared to enjoy the spectacle of my being put to confusion. Nor had they long to wait for the sort of pleasure they desired; I made a hash of things almost from the start.
A little fellow, who had informed us that he had been instructed by the Treasury, took me in hand. He might have been a cousin of the coroner’s; he, too, had sandy hair and the same peevish countenance. His questions at first were not particularly objectionable, but ere long they became of a kind which, if I had had my way, I would have been careful not to answer in any fashion save one. He had a trick of holding his hands in front of him, fidgeting a piece of paper between his fingers. His voice was, like himself, small and insignificant; but, when he chose, it had a singularly penetrating quality, which, for some reason, reminded me of the sound of sawing wood. He kept his eyes fixed almost continually on my face, glancing hungrily from feature to feature, as if desirous not to miss the movement of a muscle. Altogether he was like some pertinacious terrier who worried, not only in the way of business, but also for sport. I should like to have taken him by the scruff of the neck and shaken him.
He wanted to know if Edwin Lawrence had been a friend of mine; how long I had known him, what I knew about him, when I had seen him last. I told him about the game of cards, but, somewhat to my surprise, he made no allusion to my loss, nor the terms on which we parted.
And here began my blundering. I wished the Court to understand that, at parting, we were on the worst possible terms, and that I was in just the proper mood for committing murder. But Jordan—that was the little terrier fellow—would have none of it. He told me to confine myself to answering his questions; and that I would have an opportunity of making any statement, on my own account, which the Court might think fit to allow, when he had done with me. I wished to make my statement then; but with him against me, and the coroner, and an ass of a foreman, who said that the jury were unanimously of opinion that I was wasting time, I never had a chance.
He had his way. Then began the real tug-of-war with his very next question. He asked me if, after I had retired to rest, I had been disturbed in the night. Then I saw a chance to score, after all. I said I had, by a dream; but when I was about to tell them of that mysterious vision, he stopped me.
“Never mind about the dream. Dreams are not evidence.”
Some of the audience tittered. I have not the faintest notion what at. I should have liked to supply them with an adequate reason.
“But my dream is evidence—very much evidence. If you will let me tell it you, it will throw more light——”
“Thank you. But were you disturbed by nothing beside a dream?—for instance, by some one coming through your bedroom window?”
“I was not.”
“Mr. Ferguson, take care. Do you say that no one came through your window?”
“I say that I was not disturbed by any one.”
“I see. You are particular about the form in which the question is put. I will alter it. I ask you—did any one come through your bedroom window after you had retired to rest?”
“I decline to answer. It’s no business of yours. I suppose I can have what visitors I choose.”
“Do you suggest that the visit was intended for you—in your bedroom, alone, at that hour of the night? Consider what your suggestion implies.”
“I never said that any one came.”
“You as good as said so. But we will have it from you in another form. Who was it, Mr. Ferguson, who came through your bedroom window?”
Beads of perspiration were already standing on my forehead.
“I have told you,” I shouted, “that I decline to answer!”
Jordan turned to the coroner.
“Perhaps you will allow me to explain, Mr. Coroner, that the police are in possession of a body of evidence which tends to implicate a particular person. This fact the witness is aware of and resents. He has not only thrown obstacles in the way of the police, but has gone so far as to assert his own guilt. That this assertion rests on no basis of truth there can be no sort of doubt. Its only purpose can be to throw dust in the eyes of the police; and, especially, to render his own evidence ineligible. His own evidence is of capital importance. And I ask your assistance, Mr. Coroner, in my endeavour to prevent a miscarriage of justice, owing to Mr. Ferguson’s refusal to answer any questions which I may put to him.”
“Certainly. Witness, you will answer any proper questions which are put to you, at once, and without any beating about the bush.”
“I rather fancy that that’s a point on which I shall please myself.”
The coroner banged his hand upon the table.
“Don’t speak to me like that, sir, or you’ll find yourself in the wrong box. If you don’t answer the questions which are put to you, I’ll commit you for contempt of Court.”
“Commit.”
I should have liked to commit an assault upon the coroner. But he thought proper to ignore my challenge, and addressed himself to Mr. Jordan.
“Put your question again. I am amazed to find a person of the apparent position of the witness behaving in so discreditable a manner.”
“Now, Mr. Ferguson. I ask you again: Did any one come through your bedroom window after you had retired to rest?”
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