The Old Man in the Corner | Page 5

witnesses for the prosecution; whilst during the
examination of these witnesses he sat quite placidly, with his head
shaded by his hand.
"Müller and Mrs. Kershaw repeated the story which they had already
told to the police. I think you said that you were not able, owing to
pressure of work, to go to the court that day, and hear the case, so
perhaps you have no recollection of Mrs. Kershaw. No? Ah, well! Here
is a snapshot I managed to get of her once. That is her. Exactly as she
stood in the box--over-dressed--in elaborate crape, with a bonnet which
once had contained pink roses, and to which a remnant of pink petals
still clung obtrusively amidst the deep black.

"She would not look at the prisoner, and turned her head resolutely
towards the magistrate. I fancy she had been fond of that vagabond
husband of hers: an enormous wedding-ring encircled her finger, and
that, too, was swathed in black. She firmly believed that Kershaw's
murderer sat there in the dock, and she literally flaunted her grief
before him.
"I was indescribably sorry for her. As for Müller, he was just fat, oily,
pompous, conscious of his own importance as a witness; his fat fingers,
covered with brass rings, gripped the two incriminating letters, which
he had identified. They were his passports, as it were, to a delightful
land of importance and notoriety. Sir Arthur Inglewood, I think,
disappointed him by stating that he had no questions to ask of him.
Müller had been brimful of answers, ready with the most perfect
indictment, the most elaborate accusations against the bloated
millionaire who had decoyed his dear friend Kershaw, and murdered
him in Heaven knows what an out-of-the-way corner of the East End.
"After this, however, the excitement grew apace. Müller had been
dismissed, and had retired from the court altogether, leading away Mrs.
Kershaw, who had completely broken down.
"Constable D 21 was giving evidence as to the arrest in the meanwhile.
The prisoner, he said, had seemed completely taken by surprise, not
understanding the cause or history of the accusation against him;
however, when put in full possession of the facts, and realizing, no
doubt, the absolute futility of any resistance, he had quietly enough
followed the constable into the cab. No one at the fashionable and
crowded Hotel Cecil had even suspected that anything unusual had
occurred.
"Then a gigantic sigh of expectancy came from every one of the
spectators. The 'fun' was about to begin. James Buckland, a porter at
Fenchurch Street railway station, had just sworn to tell all the truth, etc.
After all, it did not amount to much. He said that at six o'clock in the
afternoon of December the 10th, in the midst of one of the densest fogs
he ever remembers, the 5.5 from Tilbury steamed into the station, being
just about an hour late. He was on the arrival platform, and was hailed

by a passenger in a first-class carriage. He could see very little of him
beyond an enormous black fur coat and a travelling cap of fur also.
"The passenger had a quantity of luggage, all marked F.S., and he
directed James Buckland to place it all upon a four-wheel cab, with the
exception of a small hand-bag, which he carried himself. Having seen
that all his luggage was safely bestowed, the stranger in the fur coat
paid the porter, and, telling the cabman to wait until he returned, he
walked away in the direction of the waiting-rooms, still carrying his
small hand-bag.
"'I stayed for a bit,' added James Buckland, 'talking to the driver about
the fog and that; then I went about my business, seein' that the local
from Southend 'ad been signalled.'
"The prosecution insisted most strongly upon the hour when the
stranger in the fur coat, having seen to his luggage, walked away
towards the waiting-rooms. The porter was emphatic. 'It was not a
minute later than 6.15,' he averred.
"Sir Arthur Inglewood still had no questions to ask, and the driver of
the cab was called.
"He corroborated the evidence of James Buckland as to the hour when
the gentleman in the fur coat had engaged him, and having filled his
cab in and out with luggage, had told him to wait. And cabby did wait.
He waited in the dense fog--until he was tired, until he seriously
thought of depositing all the luggage in the lost property office, and of
looking out for another fare--waited until at last, at a quarter before
nine, whom should he see walking hurriedly towards his cab but the
gentleman in the fur coat and cap, who got in quickly and told the
driver to take him at once to the Hotel Cecil. This, cabby declared, had
occurred at