LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 853, 19 March 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

ELLEN CAVANAGII.

CHAPTER I —MY STORY

( Continued )

I returned his salute with an inquiry, in the interest of a client 1 was to defend, as to what had brought him there. ‘An old friend of mine, sir,’ he replied, ‘ is here for trial, and I want him to give me some information as to his companions; I know they are extensive makers of bad money.’ I laughed, and said that that would pre sently be heard of as ‘from information received.’ He laughed also, and shortly afterwards left us, expressing a strong opinion that before two days were over he would have the coiners.

My uncle asked me who the man was, and seemed surprised when told he was an inspector of police. He made no remark, however, on the fact, and soon after that I missed him from my side. The court sitting at the moment prevented my going in quest of him.

Two hours later, when I left the court, I met him at the door. He took my arm, and we walked away together. During the homeward walk he exhibited a variety of moods, to me something very novel in my usual regular relative. He was silent and preoccupied for a time; then would suddenly burst out into a hearty laugh, or whistle a hunting chorus. When I tried to draw him out, so as to ascertain the reason for his sudden humour, he would not answer a single question, but shaking his head knowingly, replied, ‘ No, no, young gentleman ; none of your cross-examination with me. Your Old Bailey practice won’t do, sir.’ He had some secret, but I had to give it up.

Two days afterwards, I not having seen him in the mean time, a note from my uncle was put m my hands at the breakfast-table. It contained only these words : 4 Go to police court, and defend Michael Carter and his wife.’

His signature was sufficient, and my uncle knew that I would have gone anywhere for him ; but this was so sudden that I asked myself who was Michael Carter, and what interest had my uncle in him ? From what crime was Ito defend him? The solution of the mystery was to be found at the police court mentioned, and there I went.

Michael Carter, at first sight, struck me as a man far removed from the usual run of men found in a police court. True he was shabbily dressed, and his face if studied showed cruelty, sensuality, knavishness; but there was intellectuality in the brow notwithstanding. He was charged with the manufacture of base coin, and possessing the materials for making such. His wife also was evidently no common woman; there were the traces of beauty in her face, shrunken and haggard though it was ; a soft light in the brown eyes, though dimmed ; and her hands were small. I noted it all with something of surprise, as I told him I had come to defend him before the court.

He looked up with a quick suspicious glance and a light laugh, exclaiming, 4 What, another ! ’

I understood by that that some pettifogging attorney had offered himself, but I told him that I was instructed by some one who had interested himself in the case. Beyond that I was not at liberty to disclose anything. 4 Are you to defend my companion as well ? ’ he asked ; and then I found that a second man was charged with them ; but as he will not interest the reader, I shall do no more than mention him.

I replied that I was not to defend that man, but only himself and his wife. ‘With quick impetuosity, that ‘honour among thieves notion,’ he replied, ‘ Then I don’t want your help. He and I have worked together out of prison, and we’ll work together in. Defend my wife, if you like ; and if you get her off, God bless you.’ Michael Carter turned away at this, his last words being spoken as if he were breaking down, and he shuffled his feet uneasily, as if ashamed of showing feeling. Then he walked away whistling. Was his heart stone? What was his history ? When the ease came on, to my surprise the first witness who appeared against the prisoners was that odd-looking little man, the inspector of police before mentioned. I cross exam iued him with a view of shaking his evidence on some important points, but without success. Then I challenged him to produce evidence to confirm his statement. To this day I regret, as I ever must, that step. To my horror the second witness who entered the box against the prisoners -was my own imcle ! His face was deathly white, and he turned from me —an old man shaken. But for me he would not have appeared there ; but for me his story would have died unknown! He turned his face from the prisoners, and as he did so I heard a woman’s voice cry, ‘ Save us ! ’ I could not cross-examine my uncle, and yet I did not understand the case. There was no explanation of his presence in the matter. Yet as far as it went the evidence was clear enough—too clear for the prisoners, for whom, there, I could do nothing, and they were committed for trial on the spot. Before I left the court my uncle had vanished, and, sick at heart with the recollection of his appearance, I sought for him at his hotel and usual haunts without success. At length I returned home, with a faint hope that he might be there waiting for me, but it was not to be realised. The next morning a letter was left by hand a,t my office, having only these words : ‘Go on with the defence to the end ; ’ and then his signature. Afterwards a postscript: ‘ I am quite well.’ No address, no clue of any kind, to give me the faintest chance of finding my uncle. I would have employed a detective, but feared to offend my uncle after his note that he was quite well. And so the days went on, and the time of the trial came. I had then no doubt that I should see my uncle, but I was not prepared for the change he exhibited. He had always borne his years well, but now appeared to have suddenly aged, as from some great sorrow. When we met on the morning that the trial was to take place he shook me by the hand and said, ‘Save them—the woman at any cost;’ and then he walked away, and I could not put the question which prompted me to ask him for some explanation. 1 (To he continued,')