The Missing Angel by Erle Cox (lightest ebook reader TXT) 📕

“Look here, Amy,” he said impatiently, “however the matter is put it

means the same thing.”

“It appears to me, Tydvil dear, you are strangely indifferent on such a

grave matter.”

“What do you want me to do? Weep?” he demanded.

“I should have thought that if there were any ground for such a charge

you would have taken strong action,” she said severely.

“Poppycock!” said Tydvil rudely. “How the deuce do I know if there is any

ground for it until the case is heard?”

“I, for one, don’t believe it for a moment,” Amy asserted with

conviction.

“Pha! What do you know about it?” Outwardly, Tydvil was derisive.

Inwardly he was bubbling with mischievous mirth.

“From the little I’ve seen of him, that Mr. Brewer seemed a very nice

man, not the kind to be involved in such a disgraceful affair,” said Amy

warmly.

“And that,” retorted Tydvil, “just shows what a rotten judge of character

you are. Brewer’s the best salesman in town, but from what I hear, he

makes love to every woman he meets.”

Had Tydvil thrown a brick at Amy he could not have given her a greater

shock. But she would not believe him. For the remainder of the meal, she

enlarged on the subject of gossip and scandal. She held no brief for Mr.

Brewer, she asserted, but Tydvil should not listen to such statements,

much less repeat them.

Tydvil suffered the lecture with carefully veiled amusement. He refrained

from replying or defending himself. He had shot his dart, and was content

to let it rankle. And he could tell from her voice that it did rankle.

Later that day, Amy’s wounded feelings received their much needed balm

from the clear-eyed assurance of a young man in the Botanic Gardens, that

he was the victim of malice and a mistaken identity. On his honour, he

vowed that he had only met Mrs. Cranston once in his life, and had never

felt the slightest desire to meet her again.

Later in life, Mr. Justice Mainwaring was wont to refer to Cranston v.

Cranston as a case peculiar for the consistency and brazen quality of its

perjury.

Once more the battle raged round the black-eye of William Brewer. For

three hours in the witness box, Cranston blackened Billy’s character by

adhering to his statement that William Brewer of Craddock, Burns and

Despard, and no other, was his wife’s companion at his home on that night

in August. He had known Brewer for twelve years and could not be

mistaken. At the time of their encounter, Brewer did not have a black

eye. If he had one later in the evening, it had been obtained in a

scuffle that had occurred in Cranston’s home, or, perhaps, in his attack

on other witnesses.

Despite Mr. Mendax’s gruelling cross-examination Cranston stuck to his

guns that the visitor he had found in his house was Brewer. The two

private detectives backed their employer vigorously. They knew Brewer

well by appearance. Mr. Mendax had not much trouble with the pursuing

witnesses, though, they asserted roundly that the Brewer in court was the

man they had pursued.

The policeman, who had not forgotten the assault on his person or his

dignity, was emphatic, as he saw the corespondent under the lights at the

corner of Acland and Fitzroy Streets, that he could not be mistaken in

the man, though he admitted the one he arrested did have a black eye.

At the close of the case for the petitioner the outlook for Billy Brewer

was decidedly sombre.

Things began to look up, however, when Billy accounted for his movements

on the night in question. When he was backed staunchly by his host and

hostess of the evening, who stuck to the black-eyed Brewer and all his

works, Mr. Justice Mainwaring began to be peevish.

When counsel for the petitioner endeavoured to discredit them by asking

whether one Tydvil Jones, merchant of Melbourne, had not given evidence

in another court to the effect that Brewer had been working in his office

until late on the night in question, Mr. Mendax intervened. In the

ensuing legal dogfight, during which Mr. Justice Mainwaring severely

rebuked both counsel, the question was disallowed. He suggested that

either side had been entitled to call the witness Jones if they wished.

Miss Geraldine Brand went into the witness box with some trepidation but

with her chin up.

Yes she was well acquainted with the corespondent.

Unhurriedly and precisely she related that she had seen a man, who

closely resembled Brewer, speaking to the respondent close to His

Majesty’s Theatre at 8 o’clock on the night in question.

She was certain it was not Brewer, because he did not have a black eye.

It was when Geraldine was handed over to counsel for the petitioner for

cross-examination that something impelled her to turn her eyes to the

spectators in court. They fell on a very distinguished head with a touch

of grey on either temple. The eyes belonging to the head were alive with

amusement. Geraldine was suddenly seized with a burning desire to poke

out her tongue at that very distinguished head.

So far she had escaped without embarrassment, but she felt the presence

of Mr. Senior boded no good.

As counsel rose to his feet and tossed back his gown, she distinctly

heard a voice whisper close to her ear, “Is it still war?”

She knew that voice, and she gave her thoughts free rein regarding its

owner. Had they become vocal she would have staggered the court. That

they reached their intended destination she was aware from the smile that

twitched at Mr. Senior’s lips.

Again the voice whispered very distinctly: “War it is! I have just put an

idea into that learned gentleman’s head that is going to make you very

uncomfortable.”

“Now, Miss Brand,” grated counsel. “You say you have known the

corespondent, Brewer, for five years?”

“Yes.”

“And you think you could not have been mistaken in saying that it was not

Brewer who you saw near the theatre?”

“I am certain it was not.”

“Because he did not possess this famous black eye we have heard so much

about?”

“Yes.”

“At what time did you first see Brewer that day?”

“About nine o’clock.”

“Where was he then?”

“In Mr. Jones’s private office.”

“Were you alone with him?”

As Geraldine faltered “Yes,” mingled fear and anger came to her. She felt

sure she knew who was the actual questioner.

“Did he have the black eye then, Miss Brand?”

Geraldine glanced towards Nicholas. As she did, a voice said gently in

her ear, “I’ll teach you to call me approbrious names, you redheaded

baggage.”

Turning to counsel, she snapped, “You cowardly brute!”

“How dare you address counsel in such terms!” thundered Mr. Justice

Mainwaring in the sensation caused by her outbreak.

More staggered than His Honour was Geraldine, who had involuntarily

hurled at counsel the thought she intended for Nicholas, instead of the

“No” she wished to say. “I beg your Honour’s pardon, I did not mean to

say that,” she stammered.

“If there is any further misconduct of the kind, witness, I warn you I

will deal with you very severely,” glared the outraged Judge.

“Please, your Honour! I was upset because there is a man in the body of

the court making most insulting gestures at me,” Geraldine asserted

vehemently.

“A man in…Point him out to me, witness!” snapped the Judge.

There was triumph in Geraldine’s heart as she turned and pointed. “It is

the tall, dark man, third from that end in the second row.”

All eyes in court were turned on the spot she indicated.

His Honour stared, and then stared at Geraldine suspiciously. “Which

tall, dark man, witness?” he demanded.

“The third from the end, sir! The clean shaven man with the dark eyes,”

she said eagerly.

Once again Mr. Justice Mainwaring stared from spot to witness and back

again. “Stand up that third man from the end of the second row.”

Mr. Senior stood at attention.

“Is that the tall, dark, clean-shaven man?” fairly roared His Honour.

“Yes, sir!” Then her nerve almost broke. As she looked back from the

bench she saw a small, bent figure of a shabby old man standing where, a

moment before, Nicholas had towered. He had a long, straggly beard, and

his weak grey eyes were magnified with large, thick glasses.

From the bench behind the bar table, she saw Billy’s face turned up to

her in uncomprehending consternation.

Then her eyes turned back to Mr. Justice Mainwaring, whose aspect was so

far from benevolent that she looked hastily away again.

“Witness,” came a cold, uncompromising voice from the bench, “I fail to

understand whether you are trifling with the court, whether this is very

ill-timed impertinence, or whether you are in your right mind. But—if

you dare to repeat your extraordinary behaviour I shall commit you for

contempt. Indeed, I think I am too lenient in not doing so now. Proceed,

Mr. Bingleton!”

As His Honour concluded his tribute to Geraldine, came again the still

small voice in her ear: “You should have brought that long spoon into

court with you, Geraldine, my dear.”

“You say, Miss Brand, that when you saw Brewer alone in Mr. Jones’s

office at nine o’clock, he did not have a black eye?”

“That is so,” she was much meeker.

“At what time did he acquire this decoration?”

“About twenty minutes later.” How she hated that Nicholas.

“Did you witness the accident, Miss Brand?”

“Yes,” faltered Geraldine. The thought of the next question turned her

cold.

“Just explain to the Court how it happened.”

“He knocked it against something,” she temporarised. “Against

something—what thing?”

There was a long pause.

“Come, come! Miss Brand, what was it?”

“Answer the question, witness!” from the bench. “My hand,” faltered Miss

Brand.

“Let us get this quite clear, witness,” came Mr. Bingleton’s suave,

persuasive voice. “Did Brewer knock against your hand, or did your hand

knock against Brewer?”

Geraldine sped a positively poisonous look at the man third from the end

of the second row in the body, of the court, and answered, “My hand

knocked against him.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Bingleton, as one who has made a pleasing discovery.

“And did your hand happen to be clenched, Miss Brand?”

“Yes,” murmured the miserable Geraldine, wishing she had Mr. Senior

somewhere free from observation.

“So, Miss Brand, we can assume that at about twenty minutes past nine

that morning, alone in Mr. Jones’s office, you punched the corespondent

in the eye so severely that you blackened it?”

There was no answer.

Mr. Bingleton took the silence for assent, and asked, in silky tones,

“Just why did you blacken Brewer’s eye, Miss Brand?”

“For nothing,” she answered desperately.

“Witness! Do you mean to tell the court that you are in the habit of

punching men in the eye for nothing?” severely demanded Mr. Justice

Mainwaring.

“No, sir,” said Geraldine weakly.

“Then I warn you not to prevaricate! Answer counsel’s question.”

Geraldine took a fleeting look at Billy’s face that was registering

intense sympathy.

“He kissed me!” The whispered words were distinct in the silent court,

and released a wave of laughter.

“Silence! Silence!” roared the orderly.

“If there is a repetition of that disgraceful behaviour I shall have the

court cleared!” thundered Mr. Justice Mainwaring.

Geraldine’s thoughts at the