The Snare
by Rafael Sabatini
(first published in 1917)
Chapter XVI
The Evidence
The board of officers convened by Marshal Beresford to form the court that was to try Captain Tremayne, was presided over by
General Sir Harry Stapleton, who was in command of the British
troops quartered in Lisbon. It included, amongst others, the
adjutant-general, Sir Terence O'Moy; Colonel Fletcher of the
Engineers, who had come in haste from Torres Vedras, having first
desired to be included in the board chiefly on account of his
friendship for Tremayne; and Major Carruthers. The judge-advocate's
task of conducting the case against the prisoner was deputed to the
quartermaster of Tremayne's own regiment, Major Swan.
The court sat in a long, cheerless hall, once the refectory of the
Franciscans, who had been the first tenants of Monsanto. It was
stone-flagged, the windows set at a height of some ten feet from the
ground, the bare, whitewashed walls hung with very wooden portraits
of long-departed kings and princes of Portugal who had been
benefactors of the order.
The court occupied the abbot's table, which was set on a shallow
dais at the end of the room—a table of stone with a covering of
oak, over which a green cloth had been spread; the officers—twelve
in number, besides the president—sat with their backs to the wall,
immediately under the inevitable picture of the Last Supper.
The court being sworn, Captain Tremayne was brought in by the
provost-marshal's guard and given a stool placed immediately before
and a few paces from the table. Perfectly calm and imperturbable,
he saluted the court, and sat down, his guards remaining some paces
behind him.
He had declined all offers of a friend to represent him, on the
grounds that the court could not possibly afford him a case to
answer.
The president, a florid, rather pompous man, who spoke with a
faint lisp, cleared his throat and read the charge against the
prisoner from the sheet with which he had been supplied—the
charge of having violated the recent enactment against duelling made
by the Commander-in-Chief of his Majesty's forces in the Peninsula,
in so far as he had fought: a duel with Count Jeronymo de Samoval,
and of murder in so far as that duel, conducted in an irregular
manner, and without any witnesses, had resulted in the death of the
said Count Jeronymo de Samoval.
"How say you, then, Captain Tremayne?" the judge-advocate
challenged him. "Are you guilty of these charges or not guilty?"
"Not guilty."
The president sat back and observed the prisoner with an eye that
was officially benign. Tremayne's glance considered the court and
met the concerned and grave regard of his colonel, of his friend
Carruthers and of two other friends of his own regiment, the cold
indifference of three officers of the Fourteenth—then stationed
in Lisbon with whom he was unacquainted, and the utter inscrutability
of O'Moy's rather lowering glance, which profoundly intrigued him,
and, lastly, the official hostility of Major Swan, who was on his
feet setting forth the case against him. Of the remaining members
of the court he took no heed.
From the opening address it did not seem to Captain Tremayne as if
this case—which had been hurriedly prepared by Major Swan, chiefly
that same morning would amount to very much. Briefly the major
announced his intention of establishing to the satisfaction of the
court how, on the night of the 28th of May, the prisoner, in flagrant
violation of an enactment in a general order of the 26th of that
same month, had engaged in a duel with Count Jeronymo de Samoval, a
peer of the realm of Portugal.
Followed a short statement of the case from the point of view of the
prosecution, an anticipation of the evidence to be called, upon
which the major thought—rather sanguinely, opined Captain Tremayne—to convict the accused. He concluded with an assurance that the
evidence of the prisoner's guilt was as nearly direct as evidence
could be in a case of murder.
The first witness called was the butler, Mullins. He was introduced
by the sergeant-major stationed by the double doors at the end of
the hall from the ante-room where the witnesses commanded to
be present were in waiting.
Mullins, rather less venerable than usual, as a consequence of
agitation and affliction on behalf of Captain Tremayne, to whom he
was attached, stated nervously the facts within his knowledge. He
was occupied with the silver in his pantry, having remained up in
case Sir Terence, who was working late in his study, should require
anything before going to bed. Sir Terence called him, and—
"At what time did Sir Terence call you?" asked the major.
"It was ten minutes past twelve, sir, by the clock in my pantry."
"You are sure that the clock was right?"
"Quite sure, sir; I had put it right that same evening."
"Very well, then. Sir Terence called you at ten minutes past
twelve. Pray continue."
"He gave me a letter addressed to the Commissary-general. 'Take
that,' says he, 'to the sergeant of the guard at once, and tell him
to be sure that it is forwarded to the Commissary-General first
thing in the morning.' I went out at once, and on the lawn in the
quadrangle I saw a man lying on his back on the grass and another man
kneeling beside him. I ran across to them. It was a bright,
moonlight night—bright as day it was, and you could see quite clear.
The gentleman that was kneeling looks up at me, and I sees it was
Captain Tremayne, sir. 'What's this, Captain dear?' says I. 'It's
Count Samoval, and he's kilt,' says he, 'for God's sake, go and fetch
somebody.' So I ran back to tell Sir Terence, and Sir Terence he
came out with me, and mighty startled he was at what he found there.
'What's happened?' says he, and the captain answers him just as he
had answered me: 'It's Count Samoval, and he's kilt.' 'But how did
it happen?' says Sir Terence. 'Sure and that's just what I want to
know,' says the captain; 'I found him here.' And then Sir Terence
turns to me, and 'Mullins,' says he, 'just fetch the guard,' and of
course, I went at once."
"Was there any one else present?" asked the prosecutor.
"Not in the quadrangle, sir. But Lady O'Moy was on the balcony of
her room all the time."
"Well, then, you fetched the guard. What happened when you returned?"
"Colonel Grant arrived, sir, and I understood him to say that he
had been following Count Samoval ... "
"Which way did Colonel Grant come?" put in the president.
"By the gate from the terrace."
"Was it open?"
"No, sir. Sir Terence himself went to open the wicket when Colonel
Grant knocked."
Sir Harry nodded and Major Swan resumed the examination.
"What happened next?"
"Sir Terence ordered the captain under arrest."
"Did Captain Tremayne submit at once?"
"Well, not quite at once, sir. He naturally made some bother.
'Good God!' he says, 'ye'll never be after thinking I kilt him? I
tell you I just found him here like this.' 'What were ye doing here,
then?' says Sir Terence. 'I was coming to see you,' says the
captain. 'What about?' says Sir Terence, and with that the captain
got angry, said he refused to be cross-questioned and went off to
report himself under arrest as he was bid."
That closed the butler's evidence, and the judge-advocate looked
across at the prisoner.
"Have you any questions for the witness?" he inquired.
"None," replied Captain Tremayne. "He has given his evidence very
faithfully and accurately."
Major Swan invited the court to question the witness in any manner
it considered desirable. The only one to avail himself of the
invitation was Carruthers, who, out of his friendship and concern
for Tremayne—and a conviction of Tremayne's innocence begotten
chiefly by that friendship desired to bring out anything that might
tell in his favour.
"What was Captain Tremayne's bearing when he spoke to you and to Sir
Terence?"
"Quite as usual, sir."
"He was quite calm, not at all perturbed?"
"Devil a bit; not until Sir Terence ordered him under arrest, and
then he was a little hot."
"Thank you, Mullins."
Dismissed by the court, Mullins would have departed, but that upon
being told by the sergeant-major that he was at liberty to remain
if he chose he found a seat on one of the benches ranged against the
wall.
The next witness was Sir Terence, who gave his evidence quietly from
his place at the board immediately on the president's right. He was
pale, but otherwise composed, and the first part of his evidence was
no more than a confirmation of what Mullins had said, an exact and
strictly truthful statement of the circumstances as he had witnessed
them from the moment when Mullins had summoned him.
"You were present, I believe, Sir Terence," said Major Swan, "at an
altercation that arose on the previous day between Captain Tremayne
and the deceased? "
"Yes. It happened at lunch here at Monsanto."
"What was the nature of it?"
"Count Samoval permitted himself to criticise adversely Lord
Wellington's enactment against duelling, and Captain Tremayne
defended it. They became a little heated, and the fact was
mentioned that Samoval himself was a famous swordsman. Captain
Tremayne made the remark that famous swordsmen were required by
Count Samoval's country to save it from invasion. The remark was
offensive to the deceased, and although the subject was abandoned
out of regard for the ladies present, it was abandoned on a threat
from Count Samoval to continue it later."
"Was it so continued?"
"Of that I have no knowledge."
Invited to cross-examine the witness, Captain Tremayne again
declined, admitting freely that all that Sir Terence had said was
strictly true. Then Carruthers, who appeared to be intent to act as
the prisoner's friend, took up the examination of his chief.
"It is of course admitted that Captain Tremayne enjoyed free access
to Monsanto practically at all hours in his capacity as your military
secretary, Sir Terence?"
"Admitted," said Sir Terence.
"And it is therefore possible that he might have come upon the body
of the deceased just as Mullins came upon it?"
"It is possible, certainly. The evidence to come will no doubt
determine whether it is a tenable opinion."
"Admitting this, then, the attitude in which Captain Tremayne was
discovered would be a perfectly natural one? It would be natural
that he should investigate the identity and hurt of the man he found
there?"
"Certainly."
"But it would hardly be natural that he should linger by the body
of a man he had himself slain, thereby incurring the risk of being
discovered?"
"That is a question for the court rather than for me."
"Thank you, Sir Terence." And, as no one else desired to question
him, Sir Terence resumed his seat, and Lady O'Moy was called.
She came in very white and trembling, accompanied by Miss Armytage,
whose admittance was suffered by the court, since she would not be
called upon to give evidence. One of the officers of the Fourteenth
seated on the extreme right of the table made gallant haste to set a
chair for her ladyship, which she accepted gratefully.
The oath administered, she was invited gently by Major Swan to tell
the court what she knew of the case before them.
"But—but I know nothing," she faltered in evident distress, and
Sir Terence, his elbow leaning on the table, covered his mouth with
his hand that its movements might not betray him. His eyes glowered
upon her with a ferocity that was hardly dissembled.
"If you will take the trouble to tell the court what you saw from
your balcony," the major insisted, "the court will be grateful."
Perceiving her agitation, and attributing it to nervousness, moved
also by that delicate loveliness of hers, and by deference to the
adjutant-generates lady, Sir Harry Stapleton intervened.
"Is Lady O'Moy's evidence really necessary?" he asked. "Does it
contribute any fresh fact regarding the discovery of the body?"
"No, sir," Major Swan admitted. "It is merely a corroboration
of what we have already heard from Mullins and Sir Terence."
"Then why unnecessarily distress this lady?"
"Oh, for my own part, sir—" the prosecutor was submitting, when
Sir Terence cut in:
"I think that in the prisoner's interest perhaps Lady O'Moy will
not mind being distressed a little." It was at her he looked, and
for her and Tremayne alone that he intended the cutting lash of
sarcasm concealed from the rest of the court by his smooth accent.
"Mullins has said, I think, that her ladyship was on the balcony
when he came into the quadrangle. Her evidence therefore, takes us
further back in point of time than does Mullins's." Again the
sarcastic double meaning was only for those two. "Considering that
the prisoner is being tried for his life, I do not think we should
miss anything that may, however slightly, affect our judgment."
"Sir Terence is right, I think, sir," the judge-advocate supported.
"Very well, then," said the president. "Proceed, if you please."
"Will you be good enough to tell the court, Lady O'Moy, how you
came to be upon the balcony?"
Her pallor had deepened, and her eyes looked more than ordinarily
large and child-like as they turned this way and that to survey the
members of the court. Nervously she dabbed her lips with a
handkerchief before answering mechanically as she had been schooled:
"I heard a cry, and I ran out—"
"You were in bed at the time, of course?" quoth her husband,
interrupting.
"What on earth has that to do with it, Sir Terence?" the president
rebuked him, out of his earnest desire to cut this examination as
short as possible.
"The question, sir, does not seem to me to be without point,"
replied O'Moy. He was judicially smooth and self-contained. "It is
intended to enable us to form an opinion as to the lapse of time
between her ladyship's hearing the cry and reaching the balcony."
Grudgingly the president admitted the point, and the question was
repeated.
"Ye-es," came Lady O'Moy's tremulous, faltering answer, "I was in
bed."
"But not asleep—or were you asleep?" rapped O'Moy again, and in
answer to the president's impatient glance again explained himself:
"We should know whether perhaps the cry might not have been repeated
several times before her ladyship heard it. That is of value."
"It would be more regular," ventured the judge-advocate, "if Sir
Terence would reserve his examination of the witness until she has
given her evidence."
"Very well," grumbled Sir Terence, and he sat back, foiled for the
moment in his deliberate intent to torture her into admissions that
must betray her if made.
"I was not asleep," she told the court, thus answering her husband's
last question. "I heard the cry, and ran to the balcony at once.
That—that is all."
"But what did you see from the balcony?" asked Major Swan.
"It was night, and of course—it—it was dark," she answered.
"Surely not dark, Lady O'Moy? There was a moon, I think—a
full moon?"
"Yes; but—but—there was a good deal of shadow in the garden,
and—and I couldn't see anything at first."
"But you did eventually?"
"Oh, eventually! Yes, eventually." Her fingers were twisting and
untwisting the handkerchief they held, and her distressed loveliness
was very piteous to see. Yet it seems to have occurred to none of
them that this distress and the minor contradictions into which
it led her were the result of her intent to conceal the truth, of
her terror lest it should nevertheless be wrung from her. Only
O'Moy, watching her and reading in her every word and glance and
gesture the signs of her falsehood, knew the hideous thing she
strove to hide, even, it seemed, at the cost of her lover's life.
To his lacerated soul her torture was a balm. Gloating, he watched
her, then, and watched her lover, marvelling at the blackguard's
complete self-mastery and impassivity even now.
Major Swan was urging her gently.
"Eventually, then, what was it that you saw?"
"I saw a man lying on the ground, and another kneeling over him,
and then—almost at once—Mullins came out, and—"
"I don't think we need take this any further, Major Swan," the
president again interposed. "We have heard what happened after
Mullins came out."
"Unless the prisoner wishes—" began the judge-advocate.
"By no means," said Tremayne composedly. Although outwardly
impassive, he had been watching her intently, and it was his eyes
that had perturbed her more than anything in that court. It was
she who must determine for him how to proceed; how far to defend
himself. He had hoped that by now Dick Butler might have been got
away, so that it would have been safe to tell the whole truth,
although he began to doubt how far that could avail him, how far,
indeed, it would be believed in the absence of Dick Butler. Her
evidence told him that such hopes as he may have entertained had
been idle, and that he must depend for his life simply upon the
court's inability to bring the guilt home to him. In this he had
some confidence, for, knowing himself innocent, it seemed to him
incredible that he could be proven guilty. Failing that, nothing
short of the discovery of the real slayer of Samoval could save him—and that was a matter wrapped in the profoundest mystery. The
only man who could conceivably have fought Samoval in such a place
was Sir Terence himself. But then it was utterly inconceivable that
in that case Sir Terence, who was the very soul of honour, should
not only keep silent and allow another man to suffer, but actually
sit there in judgment upon that other; and, besides, there was no
quarrel, nor ever had been, between Sir Terence and Samoval.
"There is," Major Swan was saying, "just one other matter upon
which I should like to question Lady O'Moy." And thereupon he
proceeded to do so: "Your ladyship will remember that on the day
before the event in which Count Samoval met his death he was one
of a small luncheon party at your house here in Monsanto."
"Yes," she replied, wondering fearfully what might be coming now.
"Would your ladyship be good enough to tell the court who were the
other members of that party?"
"It—it was hardly a party, sir," she answered, with her
unconquerable insistence upon trifles. "We were just Sir Terence
and myself, Miss Armytage, Count Samoval, Colonel Grant, Major
Carruthers and Captain Tremayne."
"Can your ladyship recall any words that passed between the
deceased and Captain Tremayne on that occasion—words of
disagreement, I mean?"
She knew that there had been something, but in her benumbed state
of mind she was incapable of remembering what it was. All that
remained in her memory was Sylvia's warning after she and her
cousin had left the table, Sylvia's insistence that she should call
Captain Tremayne away to avoid trouble between himself and the
Count. But, search as she would, the actual subject of disagreement
eluded her. Moreover, it occurred to her suddenly, and sowed fresh
terror in her soul, that, whatever it was, it would tell against
Captain Tremayne.
"I—I am afraid I don't remember," she faltered at last.
"Try to think, Lady O'Moy."
"I—I have tried. But I—I can't." Her voice had fallen almost
to a whisper.
"Need we insist?" put in the president compassionately. "There are
sufficient witnesses as to what passed on that occasion without
further harassing her ladyship."
"Quite so, sir," the major agreed in his dry voice. "It only
remains for the prisoner to question the witness if he so wishes."
Tremayne shook his head. "It is quite unnecessary, sir," he assured
the president, and never saw the swift, grim smile that flashed
across Sir Terence's stern face.
Of the court Sir Terence was the only member who could have desired
to prolong the painful examination of her ladyship. But he perceived
from the president's attitude that he could not do so without
betraying the vindictiveness actuating him; and so he remained silent
for the present. He would have gone so far as to suggest that her
ladyship should be invited to remain in court against the possibility
of further evidence being presently required from her but that he
perceived there was no necessity to do so. Her deadly anxiety
concerning the prisoner must in itself be sufficient to determine her
to remain, as indeed it proved. Accompanied and half supported by
Miss Armytage, who was almost as pale as herself, but otherwise very
steady in her bearing, Lady O'Moy made her way, with faltering steps
to the benches ranged against the side wall, and sat there to hear
the remainder of the proceedings.
After the uninteresting and perfunctory evidence of the sergeant of
the guard who had been present when the prisoner was ordered under
arrest, the next witness called was Colonel Grant. His testimony
was strictly in accordance with the facts which we know him to have
witnessed, but when he was in the middle of his statement an
interruption occurred.
At the extreme right of the dais on which the table stood there
was a small oaken door set in the wall and giving access to a small
ante-room that was known, rightly or wrongly, as the abbot's chamber.
That anteroom communicated directly with what was now the guardroom,
which accounts for the new-comer being ushered in that way by the
corporal at the time.
At the opening of that door the members of the court looked round
in sharp annoyance, suspecting here some impertinent intrusion.
The next moment, however, this was changed to respectful surprise.
There was a scraping of chairs and they were all on their feet in
token of respect for the slight man in the grey undress frock who
entered. It was Lord Wellington.
Saluting the members of the court with two fingers to his cocked
hat, he immediately desired them to sit, peremptorily waving his
hand, and requesting the president not to allow his entrance to
interrupt or interfere with the course of the inquiry.
"A chair here for me, if you please, sergeant," he called and, when
it was fetched, took his seat at the end of the table, with his back
to the door through which he had come and immediately facing the
prosecutor. He retained his hat, but placed his riding-crop on the
table before him; and the only thing he would accept was an officer's
notes of the proceedings as far as they had gone, which that officer
himself was prompt to offer. With a repeated injunction to the
court to proceed, Lord Wellington became instantly absorbed in the
study of these notes.
Colonel Grant, standing very straight and stiff in the originally
red coat which exposure to many weathers had faded to an autumnal
brown, continued and concluded his statement of what he had seen
and heard on the night of the 28th of May in the garden at Monsanto.
The judge-advocate now invited him to turn his memory back to the
luncheon-party at Sir Terence's on the 27th, and to tell the court
of the altercation that had passed on that occasion between Captain
Tremayne and Count Samoval.
"The conversation at table," he replied, "turned, as was perhaps
quite natural, upon the recently published general order prohibiting
duelling and making it a capital offence for officers in his
Majesty's service in the Peninsula. Count Samoval stigmatised the
order as a degrading and arbitrary one, and spoke in defence of
single combat as the only honourable method of settling differences
between gentlemen. Captain Tremayne dissented rather sharply, and
appeared to resent the term 'degrading' applied by the Count to the
enactment. Words followed, and then some one—Lady O'Moy, I think,
and as I imagine with intent to soothe the feelings of Count Samoval,
which appeared to be ruffled—appealed to his vanity by mentioning
the fact that he was himself a famous swordsman. To this Captain
Tremayne's observation was a rather unfortunate one, although I must
confess that I was fully in sympathy with it at the time. He said,
as nearly as I remember, that at the moment Portugal was in urgent
need of famous swords to defend her from invasion and not to
increase the disorders at home."
Lord Wellington looked up from the notes and thoughtfully stroked
his high-bridged nose. His stern, handsome face was coldly
impassive, his fine eyes resting upon the prisoner, but his attention
all to what Colonel Grant was saying.
"It was a remark of which Samoval betrayed the bitterest resentment.
He demanded of Captain Tremayne that he should be more precise, and
Tremayne replied that, whilst he had spoken generally, Samoval was
welcome to the cap if he found it fitted him. To that he added a
suggestion that, as the conversation appeared to be tiresome to the
ladies, it would be better to change its topic. Count Samoval
consented, but with the promise, rather threateningly delivered,
that it should be continued at another time. That, sir, is all,
I think."
"Have you any questions for the witness, Captain Tremayne?" inquired
the judge-advocate.
As before, Captain Tremayne's answer was in the negative, coupled
with the now usual admission that Colonel Grant's statement accorded
perfectly with his own recollection of the facts.
The court, however, desired enlightenment on several subjects. Came
first of all Carruthers's inquiries as to the bearing of the prisoner
when ordered under arrest, eliciting from Colonel Grant a variant of
the usual reply.
"It was not inconsistent with innocence," he said.
It was an answer which appeared to startle the court, and perhaps
Carruthers would have acted best in Tremayne's interest had he left
the question there. But having obtained so much he eagerly sought
for more.
"Would you say that it was inconsistent with guilt?" he cried.
Colonel Grant smiled slowly, and slowly shook his head. "I fear I
could not go so far as that," he answered, thereby plunging poor
Carruthers into despair.
And now Colonel Fletcher voiced a question agitating the minds of
several members of the count.
"Colonel Grant," he said, "you have told us that on the night in
question you had Count Samoval under observation, and that upon word
being brought to you of his movements by one of your agents you
yourself followed him to Monsanto. Would you be good enough to tell
the court why you were watching the deceased's movements at the time?"
Colonel Grant glanced at Lord Wellington. He smiled a little
reflectively and shook his head.
"I am afraid that the public interest will not allow me to answer
your question. Since, however, Lord Wellington himself is present,
I would suggest that you ask his lordship whether I am to give you
the information you require."
"Certainly not," said his lordship crisply, without awaiting further
question. "Indeed, one of my reasons for being present is to ensure
that nothing on that score shall transpire."
There followed a moment's silence. Then the president ventured a
question. "May we ask, sir, at least whether Colonel Grant's
observation of Count Samoval resulted from any knowledge of, or
expectation of, this duel that was impending?"
"Certainly you may ask that," Lord Wellington consented.
"It did not, sir," said Colonel Grant in answer to the question.
"What grounds had you, Colonel Grant, for assuming that Count Samoval
was going to Monsanto?" the president asked.
"Chiefly the direction taken."
"And nothing else?"
"I think we are upon forbidden ground again," said Colonel Grant,
and again he looked at Lord Wellington for direction.
"I do not see the point of the question," said Lord Wellington,
replying to that glance. "Colonel Grant has quite plainly informed
the court that his observation of Count Samoval had no slightest
connection with this duel, nor was inspired by any knowledge or
suspicion on his part that any such duel was to be fought. With
that I think the court should be content. It has been necessary
for Colonel Grant to explain to the court his own presence at
Monsanto at midnight on the 28th. It would have been better,
perhaps, had he simply stated that it was fortuitous, although I
can understand that the court might have hesitated to accept such
a statement. That, however, is really all that concerns the matter.
Colonel Grant happened to be there. That is all that the court
need remember. Let me add the assurance that it would not in the
least assist the court to know more, so far as the case under
consideration is concerned."
In view of that the president notified that he had nothing further
to ask the witness, and Colonel Grant saluted and withdrew to a
seat near Lady O'Moy.
There followed the evidence of Major Carruthers with regard to the
dispute between Count Samoval and Captain Tremayne, which
substantially bore out what Sir Terence and Colonel Grant had
already said, notwithstanding that it manifested a strong bias in
favour of the prisoner.
"The conversation which Samoval threatened to resume does not appear
to have been resumed," he added in conclusion.
"How can you say that?" Major Swan asked him.
"I may state my opinion, sir," flashed Carruthers, his chubby face
reddening.
"Indeed, sir, you may not," the president assured him. "You are
upon oath to give evidence of facts directly within your own
personal knowledge."
"It is directly within my own personal knowledge that Captain
Tremayne was called away from the table by Lady O'Moy, and that he
did not have another opportunity of speaking with Count Samoval that
day. I saw the Count leave shortly after, and at the time Captain
Tremayne was still with her ladyship—as her ladyship can testify
if necessary. He spent the remainder of the afternoon with me at
work, and we went home together in the evening. We share the same
lodging in Alcantara."
"There was still all of the next day," said Sir Harry. "Do you
say that the prisoner was never out of your sight on that day too?"
"I do not; but I can't believe—"
"I am afraid you are going to state opinions again," Major Swan
interposed.
"Yet it is evidence of a kind," insisted Carruthers, with the
tenacity of a bull-dog. He looked as if he would make it a personal
matter between himself and Major Swan if he were not allowed to
proceed. "I can't believe that Captain Tremayne would have embroiled
himself further with Count Samoval. Captain Tremayne has too high a
regard for discipline and for orders, and he is the least excitable
man I have ever known. Nor do I believe that he would have consented
to meet Samoval without my knowledge."
"Not perhaps unless Captain Tremayne desired to keep the matter
secret, in view of the general order, which is precisely what it is
contended that he did."
"Falsely contended, then," snapped Major Carruthers, to be instantly
rebuked by the president.
He sat down in a huff, and the judge-advocate called Private Bates,
who had been on sentry duty on the night of the 28th, to corroborate
the evidence of the sergeant of the guard as to the hour at which
the prisoner had driven up to Monsanto in his curricle.
Private Bates having been heard, Major Swan announced that he did
not propose to call any further witnesses, and resumed his seat.
Thereupon, to the president's invitation, Captain Tremayne replied
that he had no witnesses to call at all.
"In that case, Major Swan," said Sir Harry, "the court will be glad
to hear you further."
And Major Swan came to his feet again to address the court for the
prosecution.
To the Next Chapter of
The Snare
Return to The Snare Menu
|
