ACT II

A Court of Justice, on a foggy October afternoon crowded with

barristers, solicitors, reporters, ushers, and jurymen. Sitting in
the large, solid dock is FALDER, with a warder on either side of him,
placed there for his safe custody, but seemingly indifferent to and
unconscious of his presence. FALDER is sitting exactly opposite to
the JUDGE, who, raised above the clamour of the court, also seems
unconscious of and indifferent to everything. HAROLD CLEAVER, the
counsel for the Crown, is a dried, yellowish man, of more than middle
age, in a wig worn almost to the colour of his face. HECTOR FROME,
the counsel for the defence, is a young, tall man, clean shaved, in a
very white wig. Among the spectators, having already given their
evidence, are JAMES and WALTER HOW, and COWLEY, the cashier. WISTER,
the detective, is just leaving the witness-box.

CLEAVER. That is the case for the Crown, my lord!

Gathering his robes together, he sits down.

FROME. [Rising and bowing to the JUDGE] If it please your lordship

and gentlemen of the jury. I am not going to dispute the fact that
the prisoner altered this cheque, but I am going to put before you
evidence as to the condition of his mind, and to submit that you
would not be justified in finding that he was responsible for his
actions at the time. I am going to show you, in fact, that he did
this in a moment of aberration, amounting to temporary insanity,
caused by the violent distress under which he was labouring.
Gentlemen, the prisoner is only twenty-three years old. I shall call
before you a woman from whom you will learn the events that led up to
this act. You will hear from her own lips the tragic circumstances
of her life, the still more tragic infatuation with which she has
inspired the prisoner. This woman, gentlemen, has been leading a
miserable existence with a husband who habitually ill-uses her, from
whom she actually goes in terror of her life. I am not, of course,
saying that it's either right or desirable for a young man to fall in
love with a married woman, or that it's his business to rescue her
from an ogre-like husband. I'm not saying anything of the sort. But
we all know the power of the passion of love; and I would ask you to
remember, gentlemen, in listening to her evidence, that, married to a
drunken and violent husband, she has no power to get rid of him; for,
as you know, another offence besides violence is necessary to enable
a woman to obtain a divorce; and of this offence it does not appear
that her husband is guilty.

JUDGE. Is this relevant, Mr. Frome?

FROME. My lord, I submit, extremely--I shall be able to show your

lordship that directly.

JUDGE. Very well.

FROME. In these circumstances, what alternatives were left to her?

She could either go on living with this drunkard, in terror of her
life; or she could apply to the Court for a separation order. Well,
gentlemen, my experience of such cases assures me that this would
have given her very insufficient protection from the violence of such
a man; and even if effectual would very likely have reduced her
either to the workhouse or the streets--for it's not easy, as she is
now finding, for an unskilled woman without means of livelihood to
support herself and her children without resorting either to the Poor
Law or--to speak quite plainly--to the sale of her body.

JUDGE. You are ranging rather far, Mr. Frome.

FROME. I shall fire point-blank in a minute, my lord.

JUDGE. Let us hope so.

FROME. Now, gentlemen, mark--and this is what I have been leading up

to--this woman will tell you, and the prisoner will confirm her,
that, confronted with such alternatives, she set her whole hopes on
himself, knowing the feeling with which she had inspired him. She
saw a way out of her misery by going with him to a new country, where
they would both be unknown, and might pass as husband and wife. This
was a desperate and, as my friend Mr. Cleaver will no doubt call it,
an immoral resolution; but, as a fact, the minds of both of them were
constantly turned towards it. One wrong is no excuse for another,
and those who are never likely to be faced by such a situation
possibly have the right to hold up their hands--as to that I prefer
to say nothing. But whatever view you take, gentlemen, of this part
of the prisoner's story--whatever opinion you form of the right of
these two young people under such circumstances to take the law into
their own hands--the fact remains that this young woman in her
distress, and this young man, little more than a boy, who was so
devotedly attached to her, did conceive this--if you like--
reprehensible design of going away together. Now, for that, of
course, they required money, and--they had none. As to the actual
events of the morning of July 7th, on which this cheque was altered,
the events on which I rely to prove the defendant's irresponsibility
--I shall allow those events to speak for themselves, through the
lips of my witness. Robert Cokeson. [He turns, looks round, takes
up a sheet of paper, and waits.]

COKESON is summoned into court, and goes into the witness-box,

holding his hat before him. The oath is administered to him.

FROME. What is your name?

COKESON. Robert Cokeson.

FROME. Are you managing clerk to the firm of solicitors who employ
the prisoner?

COKESON. Ye-es.

FROME. How long had the prisoner been in their employ?

COKESON. Two years. No, I'm wrong there--all but seventeen days.

FROME. Had you him under your eye all that time?

COKESON. Except Sundays and holidays.

FROME. Quite so. Let us hear, please, what you have to say about
his general character during those two years.

COKESON. [Confidentially to the jury, and as if a little surprised

at being asked] He was a nice, pleasant-spoken young man. I'd no
fault to find with him--quite the contrary. It was a great surprise
to me when he did a thing like that.

FROME. Did he ever give you reason to suspect his honesty?

COKESON. No! To have dishonesty in our office, that'd never do.

FROME. I'm sure the jury fully appreciate that, Mr. Cokeson.

COKESON. Every man of business knows that honesty's 'the sign qua
non'.

FROME. Do you give him a good character all round, or do you not?

COKESON. [Turning to the JUDGE] Certainly. We were all very jolly

and pleasant together, until this happened. Quite upset me.

FROME. Now, coming to the morning of the 7th of July, the morning on
which the cheque was altered. What have you to say about his
demeanour that morning?

COKESON. [To the jury] If you ask me, I don't think he was quite
compos when he did it.

THE JUDGE. [Sharply] Are you suggesting that he was insane?

COKESON. Not compos.

THE JUDGE. A little more precision, please.

FROME. [Smoothly] Just tell us, Mr. Cokeson.

COKESON. [Somewhat outraged] Well, in my opinion--[looking at the

JUDGE]--such as it is--he was jumpy at the time. The jury will
understand my meaning.

FROME. Will you tell us how you came to that conclusion?

COKESON. Ye-es, I will. I have my lunch in from the restaurant, a

chop and a potato--saves time. That day it happened to come just as
Mr. Walter How handed me the cheque. Well, I like it hot; so I went
into the clerks' office and I handed the cheque to Davis, the other
clerk, and told him to get change. I noticed young Falder walking up
and down. I said to him: "This is not the Zoological Gardens,
Falder."

FROME. Do you remember what he answered?

COKESON. Ye-es: "I wish to God it were!" Struck me as funny.

FROME. Did you notice anything else peculiar?

COKESON. I did.

FROME. What was that?

COKESON. His collar was unbuttoned. Now, I like a young man to be

neat. I said to him: "Your collar's unbuttoned."

FROME. And what did he answer?

COKESON. Stared at me. It wasn't nice.

THE JUDGE. Stared at you? Isn't that a very common practice?

COKESON. Ye-es, but it was the look in his eyes. I can't explain my
meaning--it was funny.

FROME. Had you ever seen such a look in his eyes before?

COKESON. No. If I had I should have spoken to the partners. We

can't have anything eccentric in our profession.

THE JUDGE. Did you speak to them on that occasion?

COKESON. [Confidentially] Well, I didn't like to trouble them about

prime facey evidence.

FROME. But it made a very distinct impression on your mind?

COKESON. Ye-es. The clerk Davis could have told you the same.

FROME. Quite so. It's very unfortunate that we've not got him here.
Now can you tell me of the morning on which the discovery of the
forgery was made? That would be the 18th. Did anything happen that
morning?

COKESON. [With his hand to his ear] I'm a little deaf.

FROME. Was there anything in the course of that morning--I mean

before the discovery--that caught your attention?

COKESON. Ye-es--a woman.

THE JUDGE. How is this relevant, Mr. Frome?

FROME. I am trying to establish the state of mind in which the

prisoner committed this act, my lord.

THE JUDGE. I quite appreciate that. But this was long after the
act.

FROME. Yes, my lord, but it contributes to my contention.

THE JUDGE. Well!

FROME. You say a woman. Do you mean that she came to the office?

COKESON. Ye-es.

FROME. What for?

COKESON. Asked to see young Falder; he was out at the moment.

FROME. Did you see her?

COKESON. I did.

FROME. Did she come alone?

COKESON. [Confidentially] Well, there you put me in a difficulty.

I mustn't tell you what the office-boy told me.

FROME. Quite so, Mr. Cokeson, quite so----

COKESON. [Breaking in with an air of "You are young--leave it to

me"] But I think we can get round it. In answer to a question put
to her by a third party the woman said to me: "They're mine, sir."

THE JUDGE. What are? What were?

COKESON. Her children. They were outside.

THE JUDGE. HOW do you know?

COKESON. Your lordship mustn't ask me that, or I shall have to tell

you what I was told--and that'd never do.

THE JUDGE. [Smiling] The office-boy made a statement.

COKESON. Egg-zactly.

FROME. What I want to ask you, Mr. Cokeson, is this. In the course
of her appeal to see Falder, did the woman say anything that you
specially remember?

COKESON. [Looking at him as if to encourage him to complete the

sentence] A leetle more, sir.

FROME. Or did she not?

COKESON. She did. I shouldn't like you to have led me to the

answer.

FROME. [With an irritated smile] Will you tell the jury what it
was?

COKESON. "It's a matter of life and death."

FOREMAN OF THE JURY. Do you mean the woman said that?

COKESON. [Nodding] It's not the sort of thing you like to have said
to you.

FROME. [A little impatiently] Did Falder come in while she was

there? [COKESON nods] And she saw him, and went away?

COKESON. Ah! there I can't follow you. I didn't see her go.
FROME. Well, is she there now?

COKESON. [With an indulgent smile] No!

FROME. Thank you, Mr. Cokeson. [He sits down.]

CLEAVER. [Rising] You say that on the morning of the forgery the
prisoner was jumpy. Well, now, sir, what precisely do you mean by
that word?

COKESON. [Indulgently] I want you to understand. Have you ever

seen a dog that's lost its master? He was kind of everywhere at once
with his eyes.

CLEAVER. Thank you; I was coming to his eyes. You called them
"funny." What are we to understand by that? Strange, or what?

COKESON. Ye-es, funny.

COKESON. [Sharply] Yes, sir, but what may be funny to you may not
be funny to me, or to the jury. Did they look frightened, or shy, or
fierce, or what?

COKESON. You make it very hard for me. I give you the word, and you
want me to give you another.

CLEAVER. [Rapping his desk] Does "funny" mean mad?

CLEAVER. Not mad, fun----

CLEAVER. Very well! Now you say he had his collar unbuttoned? Was
it a hot day?

COKESON. Ye-es; I think it was.

CLEAVER. And did he button it when you called his attention to it?
COKESON. Ye-es, I think he did.

CLEAVER. Would you say that that denoted insanity?

He sits downs. COKESON, who has opened his mouth to reply, is

left gaping.

FROME. [Rising hastily] Have you ever caught him in that dishevelled
state before?

COKESON. No! He was always clean and quiet.

FROME. That will do, thank you.

COKESON turns blandly to the JUDGE, as though to rebuke counsel

for not remembering that the JUDGE might wish to have a chance;
arriving at the conclusion that he is to be asked nothing
further, he turns and descends from the box, and sits down next
to JAMES and WALTER.

FROME. Ruth Honeywill.

RUTH comes into court, and takes her stand stoically in the
witness-box. She is sworn.

FROME. What is your name, please?

RUTH. Ruth Honeywill.

FROME. How old are you?

RUTH. Twenty-six.

FROME. You are a married woman, living with your husband? A little
louder.
RUTH. No, sir; not since July.

FROME. Have you any children?

RUTH. Yes, sir, two.

FROME. Are they living with you?

RUTH. Yes, sir.

FROME. You know the prisoner?

RUTH. [Looking at him] Yes.

FROME. What was the nature of your relations with him?

RUTH. We were friends.

THE JUDGE. Friends?

RUTH. [Simply] Lovers, sir.

THE JUDGE. [Sharply] In what sense do you use that word?

RUTH. We love each other.

THE JUDGE. Yes, but----

RUTH. [Shaking her head] No, your lordship--not yet.

THE JUDGE. 'Not yet! H'm! [He looks from RUTH to FALDER] Well!

FROME. What is your husband?

RUTH. Traveller.
FROME. And what was the nature of your married life?

RUTH. [Shaking her head] It don't bear talking about.

FROME. Did he ill-treat you, or what?

RUTH. Ever since my first was born.

FROME. In what way?

RUTH. I'd rather not say. All sorts of ways.

THE JUDGE. I am afraid I must stop this, you know.

RUTH. [Pointing to FALDER] He offered to take me out of it, sir.

We were going to South America.

FROME. [Hastily] Yes, quite--and what prevented you?

RUTH. I was outside his office when he was taken away. It nearly
broke my heart.

FROME. You knew, then, that he had been arrested?

RUTH. Yes, sir. I called at his office afterwards, and [pointing

to COKESON] that gentleman told me all about it.

FROME. Now, do you remember the morning of Friday, July 7th?

RUTH. Yes.

FROME. Why?

RUTH. My husband nearly strangled me that morning.

THE JUDGE. Nearly strangled you!

RUTH. [Bowing her head] Yes, my lord.

FROME. With his hands, or----?

RUTH. Yes, I just managed to get away from him. I went straight to
my friend. It was eight o'clock.

THE JUDGE. In the morning? Your husband was not under the influence
of liquor then?

RUTH. It wasn't always that.

FROME. In what condition were you?

RUTH. In very bad condition, sir. My dress was torn, and I was half
choking.

FROME. Did you tell your friend what had happened?

RUTH. Yes. I wish I never had.

FROME. It upset him?

RUTH. Dreadfully.

FROME. Did he ever speak to you about a cheque?

RUTH. Never.

FROZE. Did he ever give you any money?

RUTH. Yes.

FROME. When was that?

RUTH. On Saturday.

FROME. The 8th?

RUTH. To buy an outfit for me and the children, and get all ready to
start.

FROME. Did that surprise you, or not?

RUTH. What, sir?

FROME. That he had money to give you.

Ring. Yes, because on the morning when my husband nearly killed me

my friend cried because he hadn't the money to get me away. He told
me afterwards he'd come into a windfall.

FROME. And when did you last see him?

RUTH. The day he was taken away, sir. It was the day we were to
have started.

FROME. Oh, yes, the morning of the arrest. Well, did you see him at
all between the Friday and that morning? [RUTH nods] What was his
manner then?

RUTH. Dumb--like--sometimes he didn't seem able to say a word.

FROME. As if something unusual had happened to him?

RUTH. Yes.

FROME. Painful, or pleasant, or what?

RUTH. Like a fate hanging over him.

FROME. [Hesitating] Tell me, did you love the prisoner very much?

RUTH. [Bowing her head] Yes.

FROME. And had he a very great affection for you?

RUTH. [Looking at FALDER] Yes, sir.

FROME. Now, ma'am, do you or do you not think that your danger and
unhappiness would seriously affect his balance, his control over his
actions?

RUTH. Yes.

FROME. His reason, even?

RUTH. For a moment like, I think it would.

FROME. Was he very much upset that Friday morning, or was he fairly
calm?

RUTH. Dreadfully upset. I could hardly bear to let him go from me.

FROME. Do you still love him?

RUTH. [With her eyes on FALDER] He's ruined himself for me.

FROME. Thank you.

He sits down. RUTH remains stoically upright in the witness-box.

CLEAVER. [In a considerate voice] When you left him on the morning
of Friday the 7th you would not say that he was out of his mind, I
suppose?
RUTH. No, sir.

CLEAVER. Thank you; I've no further questions to ask you.

RUTH. [Bending a little forward to the jury] I would have done the
same for him; I would indeed.

THE JUDGE. Please, please! You say your married life is an unhappy
one? Faults on both sides?

RUTH. Only that I never bowed down to him. I don't see why I
should, sir, not to a man like that.

THE JUDGE. You refused to obey him?

RUTH. [Avoiding the question] I've always studied him to keep

things nice.

THE JUDGE. Until you met the prisoner--was that it?

RUTH. No; even after that.

THE JUDGE. I ask, you know, because you seem to me to glory in this
affection of yours for the prisoner.

RUTH. [Hesitating] I--I do. It's the only thing in my life now.

THE JUDGE. [Staring at her hard] Well, step down, please.

RUTH looks at FALDER, then passes quietly down and takes her
seat among the witnesses.

FROME. I call the prisoner, my lord.

FALDER leaves the dock; goes into the witness-box, and is duly
sworn.
FROME. What is your name?

FALDER. William Falder.

FROME. And age?

FALDER. Twenty-three.

FROME. You are not married?

FALDER shakes his head

FROME. How long have you known the last witness?

FALDER. Six months.

FROME. Is her account of the relationship between you a correct one?

FALDER. Yes.

FROME. You became devotedly attached to her, however?

FALDER. Yes.

THE JUDGE. Though you knew she was a married woman?

FALDER. I couldn't help it, your lordship.

THE JUDGE. Couldn't help it?

FALDER. I didn't seem able to.

The JUDGE slightly shrugs his shoulders.

FROME. How did you come to know her?

FALDER. Through my married sister.

FROME. Did you know whether she was happy with her husband?

FALDER. It was trouble all the time.

FROME. You knew her husband?

FALDER. Only through her--he's a brute.

THE JUDGE. I can't allow indiscriminate abuse of a person not

present.

FROME. [Bowing] If your lordship pleases. [To FALDER] You admit

altering this cheque?

FALDER bows his head.

FROME. Carry your mind, please, to the morning of Friday, July the
7th, and tell the jury what happened.

FALDER. [Turning to the jury] I was having my breakfast when she

came. Her dress was all torn, and she was gasping and couldn't seem
to get her breath at all; there were the marks of his fingers round
her throat; her arm was bruised, and the blood had got into her eyes
dreadfully. It frightened me, and then when she told me, I felt--I
felt--well--it was too much for me! [Hardening suddenly] If you'd
seen it, having the feelings for her that I had, you'd have felt the
same, I know.

FROME. Yes?

FALDER. When she left me--because I had to go to the office--I was

out of my senses for fear that he'd do it again, and thinking what I
could do. I couldn't work--all the morning I was like that--simply
couldn't fix my mind on anything. I couldn't think at all. I seemed
to have to keep moving. When Davis--the other clerk--gave me the
cheque--he said: "It'll do you good, Will, to have a run with this.
You seem half off your chump this morning." Then when I had it in my
hand--I don't know how it came, but it just flashed across me that if
I put the 'ty' and the nought there would be the money to get her
away. It just came and went--I never thought of it again. Then
Davis went out to his luncheon, and I don't really remember what I
did till I'd pushed the cheque through to the cashier under the rail.
I remember his saying "Gold or notes?" Then I suppose I knew what
I'd done. Anyway, when I got outside I wanted to chuck myself under
a bus; I wanted to throw the money away; but it seemed I was in for
it, so I thought at any rate I'd save her. Of course the tickets I
took for the passage and the little I gave her's been wasted, and
all, except what I was obliged to spend myself, I've restored. I
keep thinking over and over however it was I came to do it, and how I
can't have it all again to do differently!

FALDER is silent, twisting his hands before him.

FROME. How far is it from your office to the bank?

FALDER. Not more than fifty yards, sir.

FROME. From the time Davis went out to lunch to the time you cashed
the cheque, how long do you say it must have been?

FALDER. It couldn't have been four minutes, sir, because I ran all
the way.

FROME. During those four minutes you say you remember nothing?

FALDER. No, sir; only that I ran.

FROME. Not even adding the 'ty' and the nought?'

FALDER. No, sir. I don't really.

FROME sits down, and CLEAVER rises.

CLEAVER. But you remember running, do you?

FALDER. I was all out of breath when I got to the bank.

CLEAVER. And you don't remember altering the cheque?

FALDER. [Faintly] No, sir.

CLEAVER. Divested of the romantic glamour which my friend is casting

over the case, is this anything but an ordinary forgery? Come.

FALDER. I was half frantic all that morning, sir.

CLEAVER. Now, now! You don't deny that the 'ty' and the nought were
so like the rest of the handwriting as to thoroughly deceive the
cashier?

FALDER. It was an accident.

CLEAVER. [Cheerfully] Queer sort of accident, wasn't it? On which

day did you alter the counterfoil?

FALDER. [Hanging his head] On the Wednesday morning.

CLEAVER. Was that an accident too?

FALDER. [Faintly] No.

CLEAVER. To do that you had to watch your opportunity, I suppose?

FALDER. [Almost inaudibly] Yes.

CLEAVER. You don't suggest that you were suffering under great
excitement when you did that?

FALDER. I was haunted.

CLEAVER. With the fear of being found out?

FALDER. [Very low] Yes.

THE JUDGE. Didn't it occur to you that the only thing for you to do
was to confess to your employers, and restore the money?

FALDER. I was afraid. [There is silence]

CLEAVER. You desired, too, no doubt, to complete your design of

taking this woman away?

FALDER. When I found I'd done a thing like that, to do it for

nothing seemed so dreadful. I might just as well have chucked myself
into the river.

CLEAVER. You knew that the clerk Davis was about to leave England
--didn't it occur to you when you altered this cheque that suspicion
would fall on him?

FALDER. It was all done in a moment. I thought of it afterwards.

CLEAVER. And that didn't lead you to avow what you'd done?

FALDER. [Sullenly] I meant to write when I got out there--I would

have repaid the money.

THE JUDGE. But in the meantime your innocent fellow clerk might have
been prosecuted.

FALDER. I knew he was a long way off, your lordship. I thought

there'd be time. I didn't think they'd find it out so soon.

FROME. I might remind your lordship that as Mr. Walter How had the
cheque-book in his pocket till after Davis had sailed, if the
discovery had been made only one day later Falder himself would have
left, and suspicion would have attached to him, and not to Davis,
from the beginning.

THE JUDGE. The question is whether the prisoner knew that suspicion
would light on himself, and not on Davis. [To FALDER sharply] Did
you know that Mr. Walter How had the cheque-book till after Davis
had sailed?

FALDER. I--I--thought--he----

THE JUDGE. Now speak the truth-yes or no!

FALDER. [Very low] No, my lord. I had no means of knowing.

THE JUDGE. That disposes of your point, Mr. Frome.

[FROME bows to the JUDGE]

CLEAVER. Has any aberration of this nature ever attacked you before?

FALDER. [Faintly] No, sir.

CLEAVER. You had recovered sufficiently to go back to your work that

afternoon?

FALDER. Yes, I had to take the money back.

CLEAVER. You mean the nine pounds. Your wits were sufficiently keen
for you to remember that? And you still persist in saying you don't
remember altering this cheque. [He sits down]
FALDER. If I hadn't been mad I should never have had the courage.

FROME. [Rising] Did you have your lunch before going back?

FALDER. I never ate a thing all day; and at night I couldn't sleep.

FROME. Now, as to the four minutes that elapsed between Davis's

going out and your cashing the cheque: do you say that you recollect
nothing during those four minutes?

FALDER. [After a moment] I remember thinking of Mr. Cokeson's face.

FROME. Of Mr. Cokeson's face! Had that any connection with what you
were doing?

FALDER. No, Sir.

FROME. Was that in the office, before you ran out?

FALDER. Yes, and while I was running.

FROME. And that lasted till the cashier said: "Will you have gold or
notes?"

FALDER. Yes, and then I seemed to come to myself--and it was too

late.

FROME. Thank you. That closes the evidence for the defence, my
lord.

The JUDGE nods, and FALDER goes back to his seat in the dock.

FROME. [Gathering up notes] If it please your lordship--Gentlemen

of the Jury,--My friend in cross-examination has shown a disposition
to sneer at the defence which has been set up in this case, and I am
free to admit that nothing I can say will move you, if the evidence
has not already convinced you that the prisoner committed this act in
a moment when to all practical intents and purposes he was not
responsible for his actions; a moment of such mental and moral
vacuity, arising from the violent emotional agitation under which he
had been suffering, as to amount to temporary madness. My friend has
alluded to the "romantic glamour" with which I have sought to invest
this case. Gentlemen, I have done nothing of the kind. I have
merely shown you the background of "life"--that palpitating life
which, believe me--whatever my friend may say--always lies behind the
commission of a crime. Now gentlemen, we live in a highly, civilized
age, and the sight of brutal violence disturbs us in a very strange
way, even when we have no personal interest in the matter. But when
we see it inflicted on a woman whom we love--what then? Just think
of what your own feelings would have been, each of you, at the
prisoner's age; and then look at him. Well! he is hardly the
comfortable, shall we say bucolic, person likely to contemplate with
equanimity marks of gross violence on a woman to whom he was
devotedly attached. Yes, gentlemen, look at him! He has not a
strong face; but neither has he a vicious face. He is just the sort
of man who would easily become the prey of his emotions. You have
heard the description of his eyes. My friend may laugh at the word
"funny"--I think it better describes the peculiar uncanny look of
those who are strained to breaking-point than any other word which
could have been used. I don't pretend, mind you, that his mental
irresponsibility--was more than a flash of darkness, in which all
sense of proportion became lost; but to contend, that, just as a man
who destroys himself at such a moment may be, and often is, absolved
from the stigma attaching to the crime of self-murder, so he may, and
frequently does, commit other crimes while in this irresponsible
condition, and that he may as justly be acquitted of criminal intent
and treated as a patient. I admit that this is a plea which might
well be abused. It is a matter for discretion. But here you have a
case in which there is every reason to give the benefit of the doubt.
You heard me ask the prisoner what he thought of during those four
fatal minutes. What was his answer? "I thought of Mr. Cokeson's
face!" Gentlemen, no man could invent an answer like that; it is
absolutely stamped with truth. You have seen the great affection
[legitimate or not] existing between him and this woman, who came
here to give evidence for him at the risk of her life. It is
impossible for you to doubt his distress on the morning when he
committed this act. We well know what terrible havoc such distress
can make in weak and highly nervous people. It was all the work of a
moment. The rest has followed, as death follows a stab to the heart,
or water drops if you hold up a jug to empty it. Believe me,
gentlemen, there is nothing more tragic in life than the utter
impossibility of changing what you have done. Once this cheque was
altered and presented, the work of four minutes--four mad minutes
--the rest has been silence. But in those four minutes the boy
before you has slipped through a door, hardly opened, into that great
cage which never again quite lets a man go--the cage of the Law. His
further acts, his failure to confess, the alteration of the
counterfoil, his preparations for flight, are all evidence--not of
deliberate and guilty intention when he committed the prime act from
which these subsequent acts arose; no--they are merely evidence of
the weak character which is clearly enough his misfortune. But is a
man to be lost because he is bred and born with a weak character?
Gentlemen, men like the prisoner are destroyed daily under our law
for want of that human insight which sees them as they are, patients,
and not criminals. If the prisoner be found guilty, and treated as
though he were a criminal type, he will, as all experience shows, in
all probability become one. I beg you not to return a verdict that
may thrust him back into prison and brand him for ever. Gentlemen,
Justice is a machine that, when some one has once given it the
starting push, rolls on of itself. Is this young man to be ground to
pieces under this machine for an act which at the worst was one of
weakness? Is he to become a member of the luckless crews that man
those dark, ill-starred ships called prisons? Is that to be his
voyage-from which so few return? Or is he to have another chance, to
be still looked on as one who has gone a little astray, but who will
come back? I urge you, gentlemen, do not ruin this young man! For,
as a result of those four minutes, ruin, utter and irretrievable,
stares him in the face. He can be saved now. Imprison him as a
criminal, and I affirm to you that he will be lost. He has neither
the face nor the manner of one who can survive that terrible ordeal.
Weigh in the scales his criminality and the suffering he has
undergone. The latter is ten times heavier already. He has lain in
prison under this charge for more than two months. Is he likely ever
to forget that? Imagine the anguish of his mind during that time.
He has had his punishment, gentlemen, you may depend. The rolling of
the chariot-wheels of Justice over this boy began when it was decided
to prosecute him. We are now already at the second stage. If you
permit it to go on to the third I would not give--that for him.

He holds up finger and thumb in the form of a circle, drops his

hand, and sits dozen.

The jury stir, and consult each other's faces; then they turn towards
the counsel for the Crown, who rises, and, fixing his eyes on a spot
that seems to give him satisfaction, slides them every now and then
towards the jury.

CLEAVER. May it please your lordship--[Rising on his toes] Gentlemen

of the Jury,--The facts in this case are not disputed, and the
defence, if my friend will allow me to say so, is so thin that I
don't propose to waste the time of the Court by taking you over the
evidence. The plea is one of temporary insanity. Well, gentlemen, I
daresay it is clearer to me than it is to you why this rather--what
shall we call it?--bizarre defence has been set up. The alternative
would have been to plead guilty. Now, gentlemen, if the prisoner had
pleaded guilty my friend would have had to rely on a simple appeal to
his lordship. Instead of that, he has gone into the byways and
hedges and found this--er--peculiar plea, which has enabled him to
show you the proverbial woman, to put her in the box--to give, in
fact, a romantic glow to this affair. I compliment my friend; I
think it highly ingenious of him. By these means, he has--to a
certain extent--got round the Law. He has brought the whole story of
motive and stress out in court, at first hand, in a way that he would
not otherwise have been able to do. But when you have once grasped
that fact, gentlemen, you have grasped everything. [With
good-humoured contempt] For look at this plea of insanity; we can't
put it lower than that. You have heard the woman. She has every
reason to favour the prisoner, but what did she say? She said that
the prisoner was not insane when she left him in the morning. If he
were going out of his mind through distress, that was obviously the
moment when insanity would have shown itself. You have heard the
managing clerk, another witness for the defence. With some
difficulty I elicited from him the admission that the prisoner,
though jumpy [a word that he seemed to think you would understand,
gentlemen, and I'm sure I hope you do], was not mad when the cheque
was handed to Davis. I agree with my friend that it's unfortunate
that we have not got Davis here, but the prisoner has told you the
words with which Davis in turn handed him the cheque; he obviously,
therefore, was not mad when he received it, or he would not have
remembered those words. The cashier has told you that he was
certainly in his senses when he cashed it. We have therefore the
plea that a man who is sane at ten minutes past one, and sane at
fifteen minutes past, may, for the purposes of avoiding the
consequences of a crime, call himself insane between those points of
time. Really, gentlemen, this is so peculiar a proposition that I am
not disposed to weary you with further argument. You will form your
own opinion of its value. My friend has adopted this way of saying a
great deal to you--and very eloquently--on the score of youth,
temptation, and the like. I might point out, however, that the
offence with which the prisoner is charged is one of the most serious
known to our law; and there are certain features in this case, such
as the suspicion which he allowed to rest on his innocent fellow-clerk,
and his relations with this married woman, which will render it
difficult for you to attach too much importance to such pleading. I
ask you, in short, gentlemen, for that verdict of guilty which, in the
circumstances, I regard you as, unfortunately, bound to record.

Letting his eyes travel from the JUDGE and the jury to FROME, he
sits down.
THE JUDGE. [Bending a little towards the jury, and speaking in a
business-like voice] Gentlemen, you have heard the evidence, and the
comments on it. My only business is to make clear to you the issues
you have to try. The facts are admitted, so far as the alteration of
this cheque and counterfoil by the prisoner. The defence set up is
that he was not in a responsible condition when he committed the
crime. Well, you have heard the prisoner's story, and the evidence
of the other witnesses--so far as it bears on the point of insanity.
If you think that what you have heard establishes the fact that the
prisoner was insane at the time of the forgery, you will find him
guilty, but insane. If, on the other hand, you conclude from what
you have seen and heard that the prisoner was sane--and nothing short
of insanity will count--you will find him guilty. In reviewing the
testimony as to his mental condition you must bear in mind very
carefully the evidence as to his demeanour and conduct both before
and after the act of forgery--the evidence of the prisoner himself,
of the woman, of the witness--er--COKESON, and--er--of the cashier.
And in regard to that I especially direct your attention to the
prisoner's admission that the idea of adding the 'ty' and the nought
did come into his mind at the moment when the cheque was handed to
him; and also to the alteration of the counterfoil, and to his
subsequent conduct generally. The bearing of all this on the
question of premeditation [and premeditation will imply sanity] is
very obvious. You must not allow any considerations of age or
temptation to weigh with you in the finding of your verdict. Before
you can come to a verdict of guilty but insane you must be well and
thoroughly convinced that the condition of his mind was such as would
have qualified him at the moment for a lunatic asylum. [He pauses,
then, seeing that the jury are doubtful whether to retire or no,
adds:] You may retire, gentlemen, if you wish to do so.

The jury retire by a door behind the JUDGE. The JUDGE bends
over his notes. FALDER, leaning from the dock, speaks excitedly
to his solicitor, pointing dawn at RUTH. The solicitor in turn
speaks to FROME.
FROME. [Rising] My lord. The prisoner is very anxious that I should
ask you if your lordship would kindly request the reporters not to
disclose the name of the woman witness in the Press reports of these
proceedings. Your lordship will understand that the consequences
might be extremely serious to her.

THE JUDGE. [Pointedly--with the suspicion of a smile] well, Mr.

Frome, you deliberately took this course which involved bringing her
here.

FROME. [With an ironic bow] If your lordship thinks I could have

brought out the full facts in any other way?

THE JUDGE. H'm! Well.

FROME. There is very real danger to her, your lordship.

THE JUDGE. You see, I have to take your word for all that.

FROME. If your lordship would be so kind. I can assure your

lordship that I am not exaggerating.

THE JUDGE. It goes very much against the grain with me that the name
of a witness should ever be suppressed. [With a glance at FALDER,
who is gripping and clasping his hands before him, and then at RUTH,
who is sitting perfectly rigid with her eyes fixed on FALDER] I'll
consider your application. It must depend. I have to remember that
she may have come here to commit perjury on the prisoner's behalf.

FROME. Your lordship, I really----

THE JUDGE. Yes, yes--I don't suggest anything of the sort, Mr.
Frome. Leave it at that for the moment.

As he finishes speaking, the jury return, and file back into the
box.
CLERK of ASSIZE. Gentlemen, are you agreed on your verdict?

FOREMAN. We are.

CLERK of ASSIZE. Is it Guilty, or Guilty but insane?

FOREMAN. Guilty.

The JUDGE nods; then, gathering up his notes, sits looking at

FALDER, who stands motionless.

FROME. [Rising] If your lordship would allow me to address you in

mitigation of sentence. I don't know if your lordship thinks I can
add anything to what I have said to the jury on the score of the
prisoner's youth, and the great stress under which he acted.

THE JUDGE. I don't think you can, Mr. Frome.

FROME. If your lordship says so--I do most earnestly beg your

lordship to give the utmost weight to my plea. [He sits down.]

THE JUDGE. [To the CLERK] Call upon him.

THE CLERK. Prisoner at the bar, you stand convicted of felony. Have
you anything to say for yourself, why the Court should not give you
judgment according to law? [FALDER shakes his head]

THE JUDGE. William Falder, you have been given fair trial and found
guilty, in my opinion rightly found guilty, of forgery. [He pauses;
then, consulting his notes, goes on] The defence was set up that you
were not responsible for your actions at the moment of committing
this crime. There is no, doubt, I think, that this was a device to
bring out at first hand the nature of the temptation to which you
succumbed. For throughout the trial your counsel was in reality
making an appeal for mercy. The setting up of this defence of course
enabled him to put in some evidence that might weigh in that
direction. Whether he was well advised to so is another matter. He
claimed that you should be treated rather as a patient than as a
criminal. And this plea of his, which in the end amounted to a
passionate appeal, he based in effect on an indictment of the march
of Justice, which he practically accused of confirming and completing
the process of criminality. Now, in considering how far I should
allow weight to his appeal; I have a number of factors to take into
account. I have to consider on the one hand the grave nature of your
offence, the deliberate way in which you subsequently altered the
counterfoil, the danger you caused to an innocent man--and that, to
my mind, is a very grave point--and finally I have to consider the
necessity of deterring others from following your example. On the
other hand, I have to bear in mind that you are young, that you have
hitherto borne a good character, that you were, if I am to believe
your evidence and that of your witnesses, in a state of some
emotional excitement when you committed this crime. I have every
wish, consistently with my duty--not only to you, but to the
community--to treat you with leniency. And this brings me to what
are the determining factors in my mind in my consideration of your
case. You are a clerk in a lawyer's office--that is a very serious
element in this case; there can be no possible excuse made for you on
the ground that you were not fully conversant with the nature of the
crime you were committing, and the penalties that attach to it. It
is said, however, that you were carried away by your emotions. The
story has been told here to-day of your relations with this--er--Mrs.
Honeywill; on that story both the defence and the plea for mercy were
in effect based. Now what is that story? It is that you, a young
man, and she, a young woman, unhappily married, had formed an
attachment, which you both say--with what truth I am unable to gauge
--had not yet resulted in immoral relations, but which you both admit
was about to result in such relationship. Your counsel has made an
attempt to palliate this, on the ground that the woman is in what he
describes, I think, as "a hopeless position." As to that I can
express no opinion. She is a married woman, and the fact is patent
that you committed this crime with the view of furthering an immoral
design. Now, however I might wish, I am not able to justify to my
conscience a plea for mercy which has a basis inimical to morality.
It is vitiated 'ab initio', and would, if successful, free you for
the completion of this immoral project. Your counsel has made an
attempt to trace your offence back to what he seems to suggest is a
defect in the marriage law; he has made an attempt also to show that
to punish you with further imprisonment would be unjust. I do not
follow him in these flights. The Law is what it is--a majestic
edifice, sheltering all of us, each stone of which rests on another.
I am concerned only with its administration. The crime you have
committed is a very serious one. I cannot feel it in accordance with
my duty to Society to exercise the powers I have in your favour. You
will go to penal servitude for three years.

FALDER, who throughout the JUDGE'S speech has looked at him

steadily, lets his head fall forward on his breast. RUTH starts
up from her seat as he is taken out by the warders. There is a
bustle in court.

THE JUDGE. [Speaking to the reporters] Gentlemen of the Press, I

think that the name of the female witness should not be reported.

The reporters bow their acquiescence. THE JUDGE. [To RUTH, who
is staring in the direction in which FALDER has disappeared] Do
you understand, your name will not be mentioned?

COKESON. [Pulling her sleeve] The judge is speaking to you.

RUTH turns, stares at the JUDGE, and turns away.

THE JUDGE. I shall sit rather late to-day. Call the next case.

CLERK of ASSIZE. [To a warder] Put up John Booley.

To cries of "Witnesses in the case of Booley":

The curtain falls.