GRAND SERIAL STORY. JUDGMENT.

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 2, 26 March 1920, Page 5

GRAND SERIAL STORY. JUDGMENT.

The IVIost Amaii ng Story Ever Penrsecf,

FOR NEW READERS. John Millbank, a struggling barrister, fighting hard to make a position for himself. Just when success comes to him his wife dies, lcaving bim with an infant son named Jack. The blow shakes, him, but does not turn him from his path, and makes him more dctermined to fight his way to the front. He decides that his son shall follow his profession and ultimately enter Parliament, but Jack refuses. In a fit of ungovernable rage at his son's disobedience, John Millbank strikes him across the face with a whip. That night Jack secretly leaves his father's house Several years roll by, and John Millbank is now Sir John, the great criminal judge. . In his loneliness, he adopts a friendless chikl, named Kitty, who is now eighteen : years of age. Sir John tells that it is his wish that | she should marry Lord Haverham, but the j girl explains that she is in love with an ; Australian soldier, Dick Foster. ' . i Sir John is angry, and forbids her to ! see her lover again. That night Kitty writes to Dick, asking him to meet her in the Blue Room at Rivercourt, where they are staying as the guests of Lord Haverham. Just before the appointed liour Lord ; Haverham goes to the Blue Room to write i j some letters, and, unbeknown to the i guests, Sir John visits him there. An altercation arises between the two men, which results in the accidental death of Lord Haverham. All unwittingly, Dick Foster arrives in the Blue Room, where the body is still lying, and is caught and accused of murder. He is tried before Sir Justice Millbank, and the jury return the verdiet of "Guilty!" Just as the judge is passing the death sentence, he recognises the prisoner as his own son Jack! MR JACOB JOLE. The sudden illness of Sir Justice Millbank while passing sentence of death on the young Australian soldier, convicted of the murder of Lord Haverham, was a nine days' wonder. There was some talk, at first, of a new trial, and then an official announcemer.t was made that the death sentence -had been revoked, and that the prisoner would be detained "during his Majesty's pleasure." After that public interest in the affair rapidly died away. Behind the scenes, however, the drama was still being enacted. One of the chief of the minor characters in that drama was Mr Jacob Jole. Mr Jole — or "J. J." as he was known in legal circles — was one of the shadiest and ■ niost iniscrupulous solicitors who ever • brought diseredit to an eminently respect- ' able profession. He was a born rogue, who knew all the , tricks of the law, and who used his know- j ledge for the most nefarious ends. People j who knew his record wondered how he kept out of prison, but he was very clever, and always seemed to know exactly how | far he might go with safety. » It was he who had volunteered to conduct the defence of the penniless Australian soldier free of charge. There are many ways in which an unscrupulous solicitor can make money out | of a sensational murder case, and Jacob J Jole knew them all. About a week after the trial he was geated in his dark little office in Colleyer's Alley, off the Strand, near Covent Garden,

making up his accounts, and his face wore a very satisfied smile. He was a big man of forty five, with a puffy, fleshy face, a narrow forehead, and a full-lipped mouth, about which there played a perpetual sneer. His little eyes were cold and colourless, and had in them a look of cruelty and cunning. "Not so bad," he muttered, as he examined the figures he had jotted down on a scrap of paper. "Not so much as I hoped for. The fellow has no relatives who could be bled. But still, pretty good. I wonder — no, too dangerous. I must be satisfied. I've squeezed the orange dry. 1 don't think there is any more to be made $ut of you, Mr Richard Foster." He leaned back in his chair, and thought-v fully tapped his sharp, white teeth with the butt of his fountain-pen. "A confession, perhaps," he was saying dubiously, when the glass-topped door of the office opened sharply, and a little old man came in. The newcomer was a wizened, dried-up creature, whose puckered little face, neverthelcss, wore an expression of almost juv- ( enile cheerfulness. | Mr Jeremiah Nobb was nearly seventy. He had been & lawyer's clerk for over j fifty years, and he was quite happy. He I took life as a joke, and every year he lived he seemed to find it funnier. He came. forward and leaned familiarly against his employer's desk. "A gentleman to see you," he said confidently. 'A somebody — boots, hat, gloves — the real thing. Highly finished." He gave a significant wink as he dropped a visiting card on to the desk. Mr Jole glanced at the card. "Mr Frank Montague," he read aloud. "Who is he?" "Don't know." "Whats' he want?" "You." "He won't state his business?" "No ; insists on seeing you. Polite but pressing. Better sce him. Looks like money." "All right. Show him in." The old man withdrew and presently ushered in the visitor. The latter was a clean-shaven man of thirty, well-dressed and well-groomed. His manner, thougli a little superior, was polite. "You are Mr Jacob Jole?" The solicitor nodded. Yrou conducted the case for the defence in the Foster murder trial case?" "Well ?" "I am interested in your unfortunate client, and I have come to ask you if you would mind telling me what you know of the man." A keen look came into J. J.'s cold eyes. "Who are you?" he demanded bluntly. Although up to every twist and turn in the game, he could be direct in his methods on occasion. The visitor smiled deprecatingly and glanced at the card, lying on the desk. "YTou have my name!" "I have, Mr Montague, but that tells me nothing. What are you to Foster?" "Oh nothing," replied the other, with a little laugh. "Not a relative, by any chance?" "Dear me, no," exclaimed Mr Montague. And he appeared to be genuinely horrified at ihe suggestion. "A friend, then?" Again the visitor shook his head, still smiling. "I have never met the man. I saw him in court, that is all. But the case inter- ! est-ed me." "Oh, I see, just curiosity, eh?" Mr Jole had half closed his eyes, but

from between the narrowed lids he was watchiiig his visitor very intently. "You may call it that," replied Mr Montague easily. "If you can give me any information, I shall be glad to liave it." "Will you pay for it?" "Oh, of course, I shall be pleased to recompense you for any trouble you take in tbe matter, Mr Jole." Mr Jole looked thoughlful. "Of course, it is a serious matter to ask a solicitor of my standing to betray tlie confidence of a client," he said, after a pause. Mr Montague refrained from smiling. He bowed and waited. "What's it worth to you? was the solicitor's next remark. "Perhaps you will be good enough, to give me a hint as to the nature of the information you are in a position to let me have," said the stranger smoothly. Before Mr Jole could reply, the office door opened again, and Jeremiah Nobb re-appeared. "Excuse me, sir, but this has just arrived, and as I think it may be of some importance I ventured to bring it in at once." As he spoke he handed his employer an envelope. Mr Jole opened it and read tho brief note it contained. The note was in Mr Nobb's own handwriting, and ran thus : "The gent now with you, Mr F. Montague, is private secretary to Sir John Millbank, the judge. Have just discovered this. — J. N." The solicitor's expression did not change. "All right," he said looking up. "It can wait." The clerk hobbled briskly out of the room and closed the door. Mr Jole slowly tore up the note and dropped the fragments on the floor. Then he leaned forward towards his visitor and looked him very fixedly in the eyes. "You want to know the value of my information before you offer a price," he said. "Well, sir, let me tell you that it is so valuable that I can only discuss it with your employer. In matters of such importance and such delicacy I only care to deal with principals. You understand?" "Not quite," replied the other, obviously disconcerted. "Ah!" observed Mr Jole, rising. "I think Sir John Millbank will understand perfectly. Please tell him that if he will give me a private interview, I shall be pleased to place before him all the information in my possession. You might add that he can rely on my discretion absolutely." Mr Montague flushed, as he also rose and picked up his hat and gloves. "You are labouring under a mistake," he said coldly. "However, I see it is useless to discuss the matter any further with you. Good-day." With an atempt at dignity, not altogether successful, he took his departure. He was seen safely off the premises by i Mr Jermiah Nobb, who then hurriedly returned to the inner office. He found his employer in a state of great excitement. Jacob Jole was pacing up and down the little room, waving his arms. "Jerry!" ha exclaimed. "Why did Justice Millbank break down in court at the trial?" "A sudden seizure. Man is mortal. Perhaps he doesn't take care of himself." "Why is he now making secret inquiries about Foster?" The old clerk gave his employer a quick look. "Is that so? Compassion, perhaps. The sight of a man who has foughb for his country standing in such a terrible position may have moved " "Tush ! Millbank has a heart of stone. He cares no more for the prisoners he condemns than a ratcatcher cares for the vermin he exterminates in the course of business. No, no; if he takes an interest in Foster, there's some reason for it. We must find out what it is. I rather fancy, Jerry, I'm on to a big thing this time." "Ah!" said the old clerk, shaking his head dubiously, "you're very gifted, Mr Jole, very gifted; but if I were you, I'd go slow in this little matter." "And why?" asked the other. Jacob Jole placed great Telianee upon the experience of his old clerk, and always (Continued on Page 6).

r ' — JUDGMENT. (Continued from Page 5).

listened to what he had to say with respect. "I'm a sportsman," said Nobb promptly. "Always was and always will be. But I'm getting a bit old for big-game hunting, and a judge is very big game indeed." Jacob Jole cougbed. "Never you fear!" he said, "I'll keep my eyes open. I'll stalk the old lion with the utmost care." "Ah," replied the old clerk, "but suppose he turns! I've watched Millbank these twenty years and more. I've seen a good many men get in his way, and I've taken particular notice what happened to 'em. None of 'em did any good Jor themselves and some of 'em got a nasty jar. You will be careful. You won't be rash, now, will you " "You are right, Jerry, it will want careful handling. The first thing is to get an interview with Millbank. Now I wonder how that could be managed. I must think it over. I'm going out to lunch now. Don't leave the ofEce till I come back." It was two hours later when Mr Jole returned. His clerk met him and handed him a tslip of paper. "What's this?" he demanded. "Telephone message — came half an hour ago." The solicitor read : "Sir John Millbank would like to see Mr Jacob Jole to-night at eight at Sir John's residence in Kensington Park Gardens." MR MONTAGUE IS AFRAID HE HAS BEEN INDISCREET. "Have you told me every thing?" "I have told you a great deal more than I ought, Miss Kitty." "That is not enough. I must know everything. How can I make my arrangements if I am not in possession of all the facts? Something is sure to go wrong." The scene was Kitty's boudoir in the house in Kensington Park Gardens, and the judge's adoptea daughter for the last half hour had been submitting Mr Frank Montague, the judge's private secretary, to a severe cross-examination. Mr Montague was protesting very mildIv, but he was a secret admirer of Kitty, and in the end he was quite incapable of denying her anything she asked of him. At her last remark he made a comical gesture of despair. "My dear young lady, what arrangements do you propose to make? You can do nothing. If your idea is to obtain a private interview with this — er — this person who is coming here to-night, let me tell you at once that it is quite impossible. He will be closely guarded on entering the house and also upon leaving it. While here, he will see no one but Sir John." "What time will he be here?" "I do not know, but pretty late I imagine. About ten o'clock probably. Great secrecy is being maintained concerning the whole affair. The servants are to be kept out of the way. I am to admit the party and also to see him off the premises. I do beg of you, Miss Kitty, not to make a scene." "Make a scene? Why should I make a scene?" demanded the young lady in innocent surnrise.

"I don't know; but I begin to regret that I have confided in you. I have been very indiscreet. Sir J ohn believes that you know nothing about the case." "Oh, yes, I know! I have been kept shut up like a prisoner, the newspapers have been kept out of my way, and the servants have had instructions to tell me nothing. And, thanks to you, Monty, I know everything. If I had only known sooner, it would have made a difference, I would have persuaded daddy to let Dick off." "My dear Miss Kitty!" "I would ! You know he ought not to be in prison — you know it! If he did kill Lord Haverham, I am sure it was in fair fight. They fought about me and Dick won. Why, he ought to be rewarded, not punished." "Good gracious, child!" ejaculated Mr Montague in shocked tones. " "I'm sure you don't know what you are saying." "Oh, yes I do ! Didn't Dick's lawyer explain at the trial that they fought about me?" "Everything was done for the prisoner that could be done," replied Mr Montague evasively. He was afraid to tell her how carefully her name had been kept out of the proceedings by all concerned. "I ought to have been there," declared Kitty impetuuously. 'It was all through me. I asked Dick to come to Riverscourt t hat night. And, of course, he came and found that wicked Lord Haverham lying m wait for him. Well, it is no use thinking about thtajiow. I won't keep you any longer,

Monty. You might tell Peters I want to see him." "Peters? The footman do you mean?" exciaimed the man. "Of course." "You are not going to teH Hs«& tod anything about that affair?" 1 "Don't be silly. Haven't I promised you to be very discreet? Don't be frightened, I won't give you away. Now do be nice, Monty, you don't know how worried I am." She approached him, and putting her hands on his shoulders, looked up at him with the appealing expression which he could never resist. He sighed. "My dear Miss Kitty, you know I would do anything in the world for you," he said earnestly, "but I can't help feeling now that I should have been kinder to you if I had held my tongue. If any mischief comes of this " "It won't, and I am very grateful, Monty. Indeed I am. You won't forget to tell Peters, will you? Good-bye." Mr Erank Montague retired loking very dubious, and not at all easy in his mind. JACOB JOLE BEGIN S A FIGHT AND GETS THE WORST OF THE FIRST ROUND. Sir John Millbank looked at his watch. He was seated before the fire in his library. His shoulders drooped, his head was bent, and his hard, intellectual face looked drawn and haggard. There was, too, a tired expression in his keen, cold eyes. "Eight o'clock," he muttered, and slipped the watch into his pocket. Even as he did so the door of the room opened softly and Jacob Jole, without announcement, was ushered into the room. Judge Millbank did not ask his visitor to sit down. "I have sent for you, Mr Jole, about that Foster case," he said shortly. "Yes, my lord." "You have seen the man since his eonviction?" "Oh, yes !" "Has he made any statement?" Mr Jole hesitated. The affair was proceeding mueh too quickly for his taste. "Before I answer that question, my lord, I should like to know your reason for asking it," he said blandly. The judge sat up and squared his shoulders, while the old, stern, fighting look came back to his face. "I am giving you no reasons, my man," he said curtly, "Have you anything to say that will benefit your client Has he told you anything that would justify me in applying for a" mitigation of his punishment? That is what I want to know. "What makes your lordshijp think he might have told me something ?' ' inquired Jole shrewdly. Judge Millbank ignored the question. "Do you wish to assist your client?" he asked quietly. Jacob Jole, driven into a corner, revealed himself. "My lord," he said, "I am a plain man, and I believe in plain language. Since we are alone, suppose we drop humbug and come to the point. I don't care twopence what happens to my client. Yon appear to be interested in him. Yery well, I am prepared to meet you. What do you want me to do and what will you pay for doing it? If you want information out of Foster I'll get it for you — at a price. What is it worth?"

A faint, contemptuous smile curved the corners of the judge's hard mouth. He had learned all he wanted to know. His fears were groundless. This fellow knew nothing. "I don't think I need trouble you any more, Mr Jole," he said coolly. "Incidentally, I may say that I eonsider men of your stamp are a disgrace to the profession. This conversation is eonfidential, therefore I shall take no action against you in regard to it; but I warn you to be very eareful of your conduct in future, or I may find it my duty to have you removed from a position which you occupy so unworthily." Jacob Jole's big face seemed to swell, and his evil eyes bulged with rage. So that's the game!" he muttered, in a snarling whisper. "We'll see! You bluff well, my lord, but you don't bluff me. I know your record, : I know the kind of man you are. You are not the man to trouble your head about a convicted murderer withou a reason. There' s something behind it, and, by heaven ! I'll find ont what it is. And when I do I fancy you'll change your tune." Sir John Millbank pressed the button of an electrie bell which was within reach of his hand from where he sat. Almost instantly Mr Frank Montague appeared. "Show this gentleman out," said the judge, "and when yon have seen him off the premises return here/' Jacob Jole hesitated, his great chest heaving with suppressed rage. (Confcinued on Page 10).

JUDQMENT. (Continued from Paere 6).

Then he strode to the door. On reachmg f& he turned and looked back. "All right, my lord!" lie said, witk a defiant laugli. "The first round is yours on points, but it is not tha end of the fight by any means. You'll hear from me again." Then he went out, closely rUended by Mr Montague. A few minutes later the private secretary returned, "Ring up the superintendent of Brixham prison," said the judge. "Yes, sir." ' Tnstruct him froin me that the prisoner Richard Foster is to be permitted to have no furlher communication with his legal adviser, Jacob Jole, of Convent Garden." 'Very good, sir," replied Montague, turning away. "Wait a minute," said the judge. "Is the party from Brixham here?" "Yes, sir; in the ante-room." "Show them in, and; see that we are not interrupted." The private secretary crossed the room to another door, and opened it. He thrust his head out and said something, and immediately afterwards three men entered the room. Two were prison warders, and between them stood the tall, athletic figure of a young man, who still wore the military overcoat and the khaki uniform of the Australian soldier. THE PICTURE ON THE WALL. "Leave us, close the door, and remain on guard outside." The judge addressed the words to the two warders. The men withdrew at once, shutting the door after them. Father and son were alone together. The convict stood very upright, his head erect, his handsome face quite expressionless, his steady blue eyes betraying no gleam of recognition. For some moroents the judge surveyed hirh in silence. "You know why I have sent for you?" he said at length. His voice was hard and cold. "No, sir." "You are my son." The soldier threw back his head with an odd jerk, so faniiliar that the old man winced. T . have not claimed the relationship fer ten years, sir, and I do not claim it now," he said, in a tone that was proud and yet respectful. The judge frowned. He was relieved, and yet the young man's proud and arrogant bearing angered him. "When you came to Rivercourt that night did you come to see me?" he next demanded. "No." "Ah! I had hoped that you came humlile and repentant. to ask my forgiveness for your folly and your waywardness and and had hoped that, with all your selfishness disobedience, you were at least an honest raan. It was a vain hope. I might have guessed that one who behaved so shamefully as a hoy could. come to no good as a man. You have bitterly disappointed me, Jack!" A flash of anger came into the young man's eyes, and he seemed ahout to make a hitter retort, but with an effort he checked it, and ; when he spoke his voice was quite cairn. "My name is Richard Foster," he said. "It is the name I have borne for ten years, and I propose to keep it." The judge's face grew dark and threatesiing. He had not expected to find his son in this rebellious mood: "What were you doing that night at Rivercourt?" he demanded sharply. T was on business of my own." The curtness of the reply caused the judge's anger to overflow. "Yes, the business of a thief!" he said harshly and contemptuously. "As you did not come to see me you could have had no other purpose. You had no business in Lord Haverham's house. I do not accuse you of the murder. I — er — I am satisfied that you did not kill Haverham. At the trial you were badly defended. But, nevertheless, the disgrace and punishment you have brought on yourself you richly deserve. Ten years ago you left your home, threw up your chance of a great career and became a vagabond. You thought you could manage your life better than I could for you. A pretty mess you Have made of it, You did well in the war; I give you credit for that, But when it was over you went back to what was doubtless yotff old trade, and became once more a night prowler and a housebr8aker." Again the young man flung back his head with tha haughty, defiant gesture, and seemed on the point of making a vigorous defence. But as he raised his eyes he looked over

his father's head to the wall beyond, and saw there the portrait of a girl. It was an oil painting by a famous artist, and it depicted Kitty in one of her most eharming moods. Her lips were slightly parted, her bright eyes were laughing, and she was leaning for ward in one of her most characteristic attitudes, as of one who is about to dance from sheer joy of living. The young man smiled, and all the anger died out of his eyes. Then he looked gt his fatlier, and a feeling akin to pity took possession of him. This man, whom he remembered as so strong, vigorous and masterful, looked old and careworn. He had won supreme success in his profession, but he had paid the full price for it. And, moreover, he nursed a secret, in his soul which to the end of his days would roh him of happiuess and peace. And Dick Foster, knowing that secret, remained silent, and vowed he would continue to remain silent to the end, come what might. "I was not charged with housebresuking, 3ir," he said quietly, "and I am not called upon to defend myself. You say ■ I did not kill Lord • Haverham. Tlien I ought to be free. Am I nevertheless, to remain in prison to the end of my life?" "No," replied the judge. "I will do what I can for you, of course. In concealing your indentity you showed some sense of decency. I will bear that in mind. I make no promises, but it is possible that you will be liberated after you have served two or three years in prison. ' ' "Two or Jbhree years!" repeated Dick, and again his eyes wandered to the pipture hanging on the opposite wall. "A very lenient punishment for your offence," said the judge, in his most judicial tcmes. Then suddenly the eyes of the two men met, and the old man broke down. "Jack," he cried, rising to his feet, and clutching his boy by the hand. "I would do more for you if I could. God knows that's true! But only a new trial and all the shame and disgrace of a full investigation would do any good, and even then it might fail. Don't you see "Yes, yes, sir, I see!" said Dick hastily. "You are right. Get me out as soon as you can. If I could stick the last four years in France, I ought to be able to stand three years in an English prison. I don't blame you or anyone. It is just the luck of the game. Good-bye." A few minutes later the warders were summoned. They took charge of the prisoner and marched him away, and Sir John Millbank was left alone with his thoughts. The ante-room which through the warders had To pass with their charge in order to reach the hall where Mr Montague was awaiting them was a long, harrow apartment, with curtained alcoves on either side. The room was so narrow that the parfcy had to walk in single file. First came one of the wardeTs, then the prisoner, with the other warder bringing up the rear. So they moved until they were about way across the room. Then suddenly all the lights went out. Both warders were taken by surprise, .but quickly they recovered their wits, and grabbed at their prisoner in the dark. They soon secured him, and he remained quite passive while they conducted him out of the dark ante-room into the hall beyond. The hall was only dimly lighter, but the figure of Mr Frank Montague could be seen at the open door. The warders hurried their charge out down the steps, and into the waiting cab outside, and then scrambled in after liim. "I thought you were going to give us the slip," said one of them, with a nervous laugh. But the prisoner made no answer. His face was buried in his hands, and he seemed to be sobbing, Half an hour later the cab drove into the prison yard at Brixham, "Come along, mate," said the warder, springing out. The prisoner, wearing a military over-' coat too large for him, obeyed briskly, Then he stood upright, and the light from a lamp in the yard fell full on his face. .. It was not the face of Richard Foster. "Here! What the — how — why Who — who are you?" spluttered both warders together, amazement and terror in their eyes. "Eh? Oh, my name's Peters — George Peters," said the young man innocently. "I'm second footman at Sir John Millbank's, in Kensington Park Gardens, Why?" "What the devil are you doing here?" "I dunno. You brought me. I didn't want to come. I only know I shall get into a beastly row for being out so late. What do you want wfth me, anyhow? I ain't done nothing," (Another instalment next week.)