Late in the afternoon at Westminster. The court occupied, as it had been these months past, with the great Farrington trial. It had already lasted so long that the counsel’s opening address was almost forgotten; yet nothing definite had come out. The case for the claimant was approaching conclusion. Mr. Netherpoint, Q.C., held on bravely to the last. Like a true man he was prepared to die game; but it was quite clear that Mr. Quantlet, the leader on the opposite side, was only biding his time to smash Mr. Netherpoint and his case into little bits.

Interest had flagged since the commencement[202] of the trial. It was felt that the whole thing was rather a hollow affair, which must presently collapse utterly. Only the parties to the suit retained their anxiety. Lady Farrington, like the old lady in Jarndice v. Jarndice, sat near Herbert, and still strove, but in vain, to be calm. Sir Rupert Farrington was also in court, his dark face wearing an implacable frown, which deepened as his eyes rested upon the unscrupulous aggressors who sought to rob him of his rights and all he possessed. Herbert Larkins met his glance without quailing, but without any particular buoyancy of expression. He was, in truth, growing a little hopeless, and almost wished the case at an end. Everybody else seemed heartily sick of the thing. Even the presiding judge had yawned distinctly three times in as many minutes; after which he asked his[203] brother Netherpoint when he hoped to conclude.

‘Very shortly, m’lud; there are but two or three additional witnesses—’

‘Material witnesses, I trust? persons prepared to give evidence relative to the issue?’

‘Most decidedly, m’lud, most decidedly. There is Reuben Bosher, and—hey? what d’ye mean? I cannot hear what you say.’

This was to Mr. Bellhouse; who had come behind him, and was whispering rather excitedly, for him, in the counsel’s ear.

‘Delay? impossible. They wouldn’t give us an hour. Out of the question.’

Then a few more hurried words passed between the lawyers; but further conversation was rendered impossible by the impatience and irritability of the judge.

[204]

‘What is the meaning of this interruption? It is not to be tolerated. How much longer, may I ask, brother Netherpoint, do you propose to occupy the time of the court? If you have nothing further to bring forward I must beg of you to sit down.’

‘Very important intelligence, m’lud, has arrived; evidence which will probably change the whole complexion of the case. We have just heard of a witness whom I shall require to call—’

‘Is he in attendance?’

‘No, m’lud.’

‘Then he ought to be. We cannot have the time of the court wasted any more. You have had plenty of opportunities; if you lose them it is your own affair.’

‘This witness has only just been heard of, m’lud—’

[205]

‘Psha! I shall insist upon your proceeding with the case.’

‘We must move, then, m’lud, for a fresh trial.’

‘Who and what is this witness? and why is he not here?’

‘He is not here because there has not been time to bring him, m’lud. He has been at the Cape of Good Hope for nearly thirty years; far back in the wilds, or veldt, as it is called. I believe—’

‘What is his name?’

Mr. Netherpoint paused and looked round, so as to give everyone full opportunity of hearing what he said.

‘His name, m’lud, is Sir Herbert Farrington.’

There was a sensation in the court.

Lady Farrington, with a half-stifled shriek, seized Herbert convulsively by the[206] hands, and ejaculating ‘I knew it, I knew it,’ swooned away. Sir Rupert Farrington, as he still claimed to be called, half rose in his seat, as if determined to protest against this new and most audacious attempt at fraud; there was a flutter of excitement, a murmur of voices in the body of the court, the solicitors whispered and winked significantly to one another, and the bar generally woke up to give attention to what had long been a threadbare and uninteresting affair.

Meanwhile, the judge had been scanning his notes assiduously; Sir Rupert’s counsel and solicitors had been equally busy with brief and papers, while Mr. Netherpoint and Mr. Bellhouse had continued in close confabulation, and interchanging memoranda and ideas.

‘Sir Herbert Farrington?’ the judge[207] asked, at length, snappishly and garrulously. ‘There is no such person in existence that I am aware of, at present. The young gentleman, who is one of the plaintiffs, has no right to the title until he has proved his claim—’

‘I do not speak of him, m’lud, but of his father.’

‘The father is dead. He disappeared a generation ago,’ said Mr. Quantlet, rising.

‘Pardon me, that assumption is entirely unwarrantable,’ replied Mr. Netherpoint. ‘We undertake to prove the contrary, and will produce the man himself.’

Mr. Quantlet sat down, grumbling loudly. The words ‘personation,’ ‘conspiracy,’ ‘trumped-up witnesses,’ were heard audibly among his complaints.

‘Where is this person?’ asked his lordship. ‘Be good enough to inform the court[208] of all particulars, brother Netherpoint. If you spring a mine like this without giving warning, you owe it to the court to make the fullest explanation.’

‘I am quite ready, m’lud. You shall have the whole story.’

What is now to be told so closely concerns our hero, that it must be given at some length.

After much delay and many rebuffs, Mr. Jimlett’s inquiries had been crowned at length with success. Tracing the line which the gun-runners commonly took, he had been gradually drawn towards the frontier of Natal. While hesitating to pass beyond the boundary, rumours reached him of Englishmen settled among the native tribes; of one in particular, who had risen to some eminence among them, and was reputed rich in wives and cattle. This personage[209] he thought might give him some information; and, not without delay and difficulty, he made his way to his kraal. The object of Jimlett’s inquiries was stated with some caution to the English settler, who had been so long resident in his savage home, that he was almost denationalised. But if the chief had lost many of the customs of civilised life, just as he had discarded the dress, he had assumed in place of it much of that wily caution peculiar to the savage. Jimlett could get nothing out of him for a long time. The chief displayed as much, if not more circumspection than the lawyer’s clerk. It seemed impossible to draw a word out of him. He still spoke English fluently, and was perfectly calm and self-possessed.

‘I don’t see what you are driving at,’ he said, after long fencing. ‘Why not throw[210] your cards down, and be open with me? I............