On the following morning it was observed that before the judges took their seats Mr Chaffanbrass entered the Court with a manner much more brisk than was expected from him now that his own work was done. As a matter of course he would be there to hear the charge, but, almost equally as a matter of course, he would be languid, silent, cross, and unenergetic. They who knew him were sure, when they saw his bearing on this morning, that he intended to do something more before the charge was given. The judges entered the Court nearly half an hour later than usual, and it was observed with surprise that they were followed by the Duke of Omnium. Mr Chaffanbrass was on his feet before the Chief Justice had taken his seat, but the judge was the first to speak. It was observed that he held a scrap of paper in his hand, and that the barrister held a similar scrap. Then every man in the Court knew that some message had come suddenly by the wires. “I am informed, Mr Chaffanbrass, that you wish to address the Court before I begin my charge.”

“Yes, my lud; and I am afraid, my lud, that I shall have to ask your ludship to delay your charge for some days, and to subject the jury to the very great inconvenience of prolonged incarceration for another week — either to do that or to call upon the jury to acquit the prisoner. I venture to assert, on my own peril, that no jury can convict the prisoner after hearing me read that which I hold in my hand.” Then Mr Chaffanbrass paused, as though expecting that the judge would speak — but the judge said not a word, but sat looking at the old barrister over his spectacles.

Every eye was turned upon Phineas Finn, who up to this moment had heard nothing of these new tidings — who did not in the least know on what was grounded the singularly confident — almost insolently confident assertion which Mr Chaffanbrass had made in his favour. On him the effect was altogether distressing. He had borne the trying week with singular fortitude, having stood there in the place of shame hour after hour, and day after day, expecting his doom. It had been to him as a lifetime of torture. He had become almost numb from the weariness of his position and the agonising strain upon his mind. The gaoler had offered him a seat from day to day, but he had always refused it, preferring to lean upon the rail and gaze upon the Court. He had almost ceased to hope for anything except the end of it. He had lost count of the days, and had begun to feel that the trial was an eternity of torture in itself. At nights he could not sleep, but during the Sunday, after Mass, he had slept all day. Then it had begun again, and when the Tuesday came he hardly knew how long it had been since that vacant Sunday. And now he heard the advocate declare, without knowing on what ground the declaration was grounded, that the trial must be postponed, or that the jury must be instructed to acquit him.

“This telegram has reached us only this morning,” continued Mr Chaffanbrass. “{“Mealyus had a house door-key made in Prague. We have the mould in our possession, and will bring the man who made the key to England.’” Now, my lud, the case in the hands of the police, as against this man Mealyus, or Emilius, as he has chosen to call himself, broke down altogether on the presumption that he could not have let himself in and out of the house in which he had put himself to bed on the night of the murder. We now propose to prove that he had prepared himself with the means of doing so, and had done so after a fashion which is conclusive as to his having required the key for some guilty purpose. We assert that your ludship cannot allow the case to go to the jury without taking cognisance of this telegram; and we go further, and say that those twelve men, as twelve human beings with hearts in their bosoms and ordinary intelligence at their command, cannot ignore the message, even should your ludship insist upon their doing so with all the energy at your disposal.”

Then there was a scene in Court, and it appeared that no less than four messages had been received from Prague, all to the same effect. One had been addressed by Madame Goesler to her friend the Duchess — and that message had caused the Duke’s appearance on the scene. He had brought his telegram direct to the Old Bailey, and the Chief Justice now held it in his hand. The lawyer’s clerk who had accompanied Madame Goesler had telegraphed to the Governor of the gaol, to Mr Wickerby, and to the Attorney-General. Sir Gregory, rising with the telegram in his hand, stated that he had received the same information. “I do not see,” said he, “that it at all alters the evidence as against the prisoner.

“Let your evidence go to the jury, then,” said Mr Chaffanbrass, “with such observations as his lordship may choose to make on the telegram. I shall be contented. You have already got your other man in prison on a charge of bigamy.

“I could not take notice of the message in charging the jury, Mr Chaffanbrass,” said the judge. “It has come, as far as we know, from the energy of a warm friend — from that hearty friendship with which it seemed yesterday that this gentleman, the prisoner at the bar, has inspired so many men and women of high character. But it proves nothing. It is an assertion. And where should we all be, Mr Chaffanbrass, if it should appear hereafter that the assertion is fictitious — prepared purposely to aid the escape of a criminal?”

“I defy you to ignore it, my lord.”

“I can only suggest, Mr Chaffanbrass,” continued the judge, “that you should obtain the consent of the gentlemen on the other side to a postponement of my charge.”

Then spoke out the foreman of the jury. Was it proposed that they should be locked up till somebody should come from Prague, and that then the trial should be recommenced? The system, said the foreman, under which Middlesex juries were chosen for service in the City was known to be most horribly cruel — but cruelty to jurymen such as this had never even been heard of. Then a most irregular word was spoken. One of the jurymen declared that he was quite willing to believe the telegram. “Everyone believes it,” said Mr Chaffanbrass. Then the Chief Justice scolded the juryman, and Sir Gregory Grogram scolded Mr Chaffanbrass. It seemed as though all the rules of the Court were to be set at defiance. “Will my learned friend say that he doesn’t believe it?” asked Mr Chaffanbrass. “I neither believe nor disbelieve it; but it cannot affect the evidence,” said Sir Gregory. “Then send the case to the jury,” said Mr Chaffanbrass. It seemed that everybody was talking, and Mr Wickerby, the attorney, tried to explain it all to the prisoner over the bar of the dock, not in the lowest possible voice. The Chief Justice became angry, and the guardian of the silence of the Court bestirred himself energetically. “My lud,” said Mr Chaffanbrass, “I maintain that it is proper that the prisoner should be informed of the purport of these telegrams. Mercy demands it, and justice as well.” Phineas Finn, however, did not understand, as he had known nothing about the latch-key of the house in Northumberland Street.

Something, however, must be done. The Chief Justice was of opinion that, although the preparation of a latch-key in Prague could not really affect the evidence against the prisoner — although the facts against the prisoner would not be altered, let the manufacture of that special key be ever so clearly proved — nevertheless the jury were entitled to have before them the facts now tendered in evidence before they could be called upon to give a verdict, and that therefore they should submit themselves, in the service of their country, to the very serio............