Case for the Crown closes. Have I
stated it correctly?"
I nodded; he took a sip or two at his wine, laid down his pipe as if
the tobacco spoiled the taste of it, took another sip, and
continued:--
"Case for the defence. That Roger Tallis has decamped, that no
diamond has been found on you (or anywhere), and lastly that the
bullets in the jeweller's body do not fit your pistols, but came from
a larger pair. Not very much of a case, perhaps, but this last is a
strong point."
"Well?" I asked, as he paused.
"Now then for the facts of the case. Would you oblige me by casting
a look over there in the corner?"
"I see nothing but a pickaxe and shovel."
"Ha! very good; 'nothing but a pickaxe and shovel.' Well, to resume:
facts of the case--Roger Tallis murders the jeweller, and you murder
Roger Tallis; after that, as you say, 'nothing but a pickaxe and
shovel.'"
And with this, as I am a living sinner, the rosy-faced old boy took
up his flute and blew a stave or two of "Come, Lasses and Lads."
"Did you dig him up?" I muttered hoarsely; and although deathly cold
I could feel a drop of sweat trickling down my forehead and into my
eye.
"What, before the trial? My good sir, you have a fair, a very fair,
aptitude for crime, but believe me, you have much to learn both of
legal etiquette and of a lawyer's conscience." And for the first
time since I came in I saw something like indignation on his ruddy
face.
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