The Advocate's Wife Read Online Free PDF

thin-faced man, who looked as though he’d put a price in pounds, shillings and pence upon everyone and everything. ‘Poor Hungerford offered no resistance, and for that, he was done to death, for violence and slaughter understand only violence and slaughter.’ That had very much impressed the juror for whom he had designed it – a man who looked as though he might have been a Quaker.
    Each of the twelve men had received his piece of oratory gratefully, and had appropriated it to his own store of impressions . ‘Where is the spirit of righteousness and justice?’ he had asked of one tightly buttoned man in black, who might at one time have entertained an ambition to be a clergyman. When finally he had reached the far end of the jury box, where a free spirit who looked like a butcher’s assistant sat with clenched fists and a look of murderous indignation on his red face, he asked the man a question. ‘Will James Hungerford’s blood cryout for redress in vain?’ The man shook his head vigorously, and glared at the prisoner in the dock with undisguised hatred.
    Oh, yes, there was a prisoner, too, though he was never allowed to play too great a part in the proceedings. Odd, how commonplace these murderers looked when they sat between their warders in the spike-topped dock! You wouldn’t give them a second glance, under normal circumstances.
    Poor young Forster was doing his best. He’d learned already not to overdo it, not to look for virtue where none was to be found. He was talking about Albert John Davidson’s sad childhood in the slums, his mother’s death from gin, and all the rest of it. None of it would be of any avail: that ashen-faced, simian brute in the dock knew he was doomed.
    The trial moved to its inevitable conclusion. There was a masterly summing-up and charge to the jury from the Common Serjeant. The jury retired for no longer than twenty minutes. They returned to deliver the inevitable verdict of ‘Guilty’.
    The prisoner was brought to stand at the bar of the dock to listen to his sentence. His face remained impassive, his eyes fixed on the Common Serjeant.
    ‘Albert John Davidson, you have been found guilty of the murder of James Hungerford, a man universally liked and respected, and the father of five children. Throughout this trial you have stubbornly refused to admit that you did this awful deed, and even now your motive for doing so is obscure.
    ‘Nevertheless, the prosecution has proved conclusively that you committed the crime, and a jury of your peers has found you guilty. Have you anything now to say before sentence of death is passed upon you?’
    At first Albert John Davidson simply made some inarticulate noises. Then he found his voice. It was a chilling sound, unnaturally shrill for such a big man, and seeming to come from somewhere far off.
    ‘Yes, My Lord. I confess the deed, but I will say no more. To this I was born, and to this have I come.’
    There was a murmur from the public gallery, which was quickly suppressed by the usher. Porteous looked up sharply, and drew in his breath with a little hiss. He glanced towards the door.Yes; there was Detective Inspector Box. Bless him, he’d kept his promise to come, and it was obvious from his manner that he, too, had understood the hidden meaning of the prisoner’s words.
    The Common Serjeant made no comment. He glanced briefly to his right, and the chaplain appeared on the bench.
    Sir William Porteous shaded his eyes with his left hand and sank a little further down in his seat. He did not relish this part of the proceedings, and contrived not to look as the judge placed the black cap on his wig.
    ‘You will be taken from here, to the place from whence you came
    Albert John Davidson…. What a stupid, mindless brute! Sent to steal a watch, he had destroyed an innocent life. Now, his own life was forfeit. And those words from the dock…. Inspector Box knew what they meant.
    ‘and from thence to the place of execution …