Chapter XX: Money Makes a Difference

However preposterous the charge against Ralph might appear to those who knew the man, the magistrates decided that a _primâ facie_ case had been made out against him, and at the end of the adjourned hearing fully committed him for trial on the capital charge at the next assizes. To this disaster it is possible that his own demeanour contributed, for throughout the proceedings he exhibited an impatient indignation that went far to alienate the sympathy of those who, within their own limitations, were striving to discharge their duty faithfully. Mr. Tracy on several occasions had difficulty in restraining his client's temper, and, at a final interview with him after his committal, implored him to control himself more effectually at the assizes.

"But they are such hopeless imbeciles," Ralph protested. "Thank goodness, the decision won't rest with any Justice Shallow next time! If it did, I should inevitably hang."

Mr. Tracy quieted him somewhat, and Gwendolen, who also was permitted to see him before he was removed, did much to restore his faith in human nature, but everybody at the Manor House was oppressed by a sense of impending calamity. Innocent men have met death upon the gallows before now, and faith is such a different thing from proof. In the meantime, however, there was an interval during which it might be possible to get upon some other trail, and all Ralph's friends swore to leave no stone unturned to prove his innocence.

As a first step, Gwendolen determined to enlist Melville's active co-operation, and with her mother called upon him at his chambers, having previously let him know he might expect them. Melville was sympathy incarnate, and, although he confessed that he did not see in what way he could be of use, promised to be unremitting in his enquiries and to spare neither time nor trouble to bring about the acquittal which he desired as much as they did. What he had said to Lavender in Kensington Gardens he repeated now to Gwendolen, and with very similar effect, so that she went away cheered and hopeful and full of gratitude to him.

The cab containing them had scarcely driven away before another visitor arrived in the person of Mr. Tracy. The old gentleman was evidently unaware that the Austens had just called upon Melville on the same errand, and Melville did not enlighten him; the least suggestion of mystery had an odd fascination for him, and from the possession of exclusive information, however trifling in itself, he always derived satisfaction and a sense of power. In presence of the solicitor his pose was different; he resented the stigma cast upon the family name, was not free from apprehensions about the issue of the trial, and agreed with Ralph in denouncing the stupidity of the police; but he had no practical suggestion to offer, and again did not see in what way he could be of use. He rather inclined to the idea that excess of activity might be construed to his brother's disadvantage.

"You never know what these criminal lawyers may not make of trifles most praiseworthy in themselves," he said. "If I were to be seen all over the place trying to pump everybody they would as likely as not protest that I was trying to suborn evidence for our side; whereas, if I keep myself aloof and lead my usual life it will, at any rate, show that I'm confident of Ralph's innocence and feel no anxiety."

"But you must feel anxiety," said Mr. Tracy irritably. "Your brother is in a deuced ticklish position, Mr. Ashley."

"I know," Melville answered, with a far-away look upon his face. "I wouldn't be in his place for a million of money." That was almost the only absolutely sincere remark he made upon the subject. "Look here, Mr. Tracy," he said suddenly, "in confidence, do you really think Ralph might swing for this?"

"I think it's quite possible," the lawyer said. "It's a capital charge, and if the jury bring in a verdict of guilty the sentence must be death; there's no alternative. Whether it would be carried out or commuted to penal servitude is another matter, as to which I have formed no opinion."

"No jury can convict," said Melville obstinately; "there's no evidence."

Mr. Tracy would not argue the point. That would be done exhaustively by-and-bye; his present business was to stimulate Melville into activity, and it was not progressing as he liked.

"What we have to do at the present time," he said, "is to make all possible enquiries and follow up any possible clue, however shadowy it may seem at first. I want you to exhaust the neighbourhood of Fairbridge; you know everybody there. Go round the inns and little shops and the locks, and encourage the people to talk. You may hear of some stranger having been seen about there at the time, hanging about the bars or the towing-path, or something of that sort; if you do, follow it up."

"But all that means time and money," said Melville. "I can't afford either."

Mr. Tracy was surprised.

"My dear sir," he said, "you must make the time, and as for the money, that is my affair, as the solicitor for the defence. I will pay a hundred into your account this afternoon, if you will tell me where you bank."

"That simplifies things for me," said Melville, imparting the necessary information without too much alacrity, but yet making sure that Mr. Tracy should make no mistake as to which branch of the bank he honoured with his custom. "I don't see why I shouldn't confess to you that I am hard up, and Sir Geoffrey's will was like a blow between the eyes."

"It was an amazing business," Mr. Tracy admitted. "About this Lady Holt, Mr. Ashley; had you any idea of her existence?"

"Not the faintest," said Melville unblushingly.

"Nor why you should be excluded from the will? Pardon me, if I seem to be asking too much."

"The whole thing was like a bolt from the blue," Melville replied. "As a matter of fact I had been on particularly good terms with my uncle just lately, which makes it all the more incomprehensible to me. By the way," he added, with the charm of manner which he knew so well how to assume upon occasion, "I hope you will forget what I said to Ralph after you read the will that day. I was horribly mortified, and I daresay I said more than I really meant."

"Whatever you might have said I should have attributed to a very natural disappointment," Mr. Tracy said pleasantly. "That is all forgotten, so far as I am concerned, and I know I may call upon you now with confidence."

"With perfect confidence," Melville answered. "If you think I may be able to find out anything by pottering about Fairbridge, I'll go down and begin operations to-morrow, but I'm not sanguine."

"At any rate, your evidence will be valuable to show the terms on which your brother stood with your uncle. They were always particularly good friends, weren't they?"

"Yes," said Melville moodily. "Ralph was always Sir Geoffrey's favourite."

"And he was delighted, I know, about your brother's engagement to Miss Austen," Mr. Tracy continued, unconsciously rubbing salt into Melville's sores. "It was his intention to make most handsome settlements, which would have rendered the young couple quite independent."

"I daresay," said Melville. "Well, there it is. I am quite ready to testify that Ralph was always like a very affectionate son to Sir Geoffrey, and that, as far as I can see, there was not only no reason why he should commit such a crime as he is alleged to have committed, but every reason why he shouldn't. Ralph and I have never been very chummy, but nobody would do more to clear him of this preposterous charge than I would. That goes without saying. What makes me want to kick myself is that I can't do something that seems more practical than simply go into court and say what everybody knows already."

"It will all help," said Mr. Tracy; "and, after all, the burden of proof rests on the prosecution."

"Quite so," said Melville. "That was my point at the start. I don't see how evidence can be manufactured, and unless it can be, Ralph is bound to be acquitted. Still, I'm your man, Mr. Tracy, and as you suggest that I might pick up some clue from local gossip I'll be off to-morrow, and report progress as soon as I make any."

He spoke heartily, and Mr. Tracy shook his outstretched hand, well content with the result of his call.

"It's an ill wind that blows no one any good," he thought as he descended in the lift. "If one result of this magisterial blunder is to make those two fine young fellows better friends, it won't have been all wasted; and as for the trial I don't suppose there will really be any miscarriage of justice."

Sir Geoffrey had appointed Mr. Tracy executor of his will, and the old fellow travelled to Fairbridge every evening, and dined and slept at the Manor House. He found the arrangement a very pleasant one in many ways, and incidentally it enabled him to do Gwendolen good by employing her as his secretary in dealing with the mass of business involved in the settlement of so considerable an estate, and thus distracting her thoughts from her terrible anxiety for at least a portion of the twenty-four hours. He felt confident that he would sooner or later come across some documents relating to the mysterious marriage, and he carefully perused all the letters which Sir Geoffrey had preserved. There was, however, no trace of any correspondence between the husband and wife. It was, of course, possible that they had not been apart after their marriage until the final separation came, but still it was singular that among so many letters as Sir Geoffrey had kept there should be none from this particular person--not even letters written during the period of courtship.

It was in this direction that Mr. Tracy had turned Gwendolen's especial attention, desiring her, also, to look carefully among a rather large assortment of photographs and miniatures for anything that might conceivably be a portrait of Lady Holt. He was anxious to trace the whereabouts of the widow for reasons quite apart from his obligation to carry out Sir Geoffrey's testamentary instructions in every particular.

Questions would certainly be asked about her at Ralph's trial, and his professional pride was piqued at his present entire ignorance of the story.

After leaving Melville's chambers he went back to his office in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and issued another advertisement to the Press, offering a substantial reward to anyone who would give him information as to the whereabouts of Lady Holt.

"It is only her business to apply to me for her own advantage," he reflected; "it is anybody's business to tell me where she is if it's made worth their while," and convinced that the money spent on this advertisement might prove to have been well spent, he went down to Fairbridge in an equable frame of mind.

He was surprised when Gwendolen told him she had seen Melville that afternoon.

"I wonder why he did not mention it," he said, but although his training inclined him to be suspicious, his suspicions on this occasion were easily dispelled, especially as his impressions of Melville's good disposition towards his brother tallied with those formed by the two ladies.

"I consider that he behaved in a very gentlemanly and straightforward fashion," he said, and Mrs. Austen cordially agreed. "He was diffident as to his power to help, but directly I suggested something I thought he might do, he undertook it with alacrity. That is quite the proper spirit."

And privately, to his own mind, he admitted that Melville could not explain to Mrs. Austen how his financial position would have hampered his activities, but for that little cheque on account of out-of-pocket expenditure, and he was filled with admiration of Melville's delicacy and tact as well. He had no doubt but what Melville Ashley was a deeply-injured man, and resolved to interpret Ralph's instructions liberally, and pay in another hundred pounds to Melville's account at the bank.

Later in the evening, Gwendolen came to him in the library and laid some photographs in front of him.

"I found these in an old bureau," she said. "Do you think one of them might be Lady Holt?"

Mr. Tracy looked at them eagerly; two of them he laid aside, but the third he kept in his hands.

"Those two I am pretty sure I recognise; they are old photographs, but the faces are familiar to me, though I cannot put names to them at the moment. This one is different. Taken at Norwich, I see. If the photographer is still there we may ascertain whose likeness it is. I will make enquiries at once, and hope something may come of it. Thank you, my dear. This may be exceedingly useful," and after examining it earnestly, as if to impress the picture on his memory, he put it carefully away with the other papers relating to Sir Geoffrey's last will and testament.