"Ha, hum!" said the little Judge. "I don't see--eh--um--that I can
decide anything--ah--whatever. Case is withdrawn. Ha, hum. But in
the interests of justice, and seeing--seeing, I say," he went on,
warming to his work as the question laid itself open before him,
"that there is serious suspicion of fraud and forgery, it would be
wrong on my part to allow the case to close without some investigation
in the interests of justice. As to Mr. Manasseh's objection, that
the Court is functus officio so far as this case is concerned,
I uphold that contention; but, in exercise of the power that the
Court holds over its officers, I consider that I have the power--and
that I should exercise the power--of putting the solicitor in the
box to explain how this document came into its present state. Let
Mr. Blake go into the box."
But while the little Judge was delivering his well-rounded sentences,
Blake had slipped out of Court and made off to his lodgings. He
had failed in everything. He might perhaps keep out of gaol; but
the blow to his reputation was fatal. He had played for a big stake
and lost, and he saw before him only drudgery and lifelong shame.
He had reached his lodgings, half-turned at the door, and saw behind
him the Court tipstaff, who had been sent after him.
"The Judge wants you back at the Court, Mr. Blake," said the
tipstaff.
"All right. Wait till I run up to my room for some papers. I'll be
down in a minute," and he ran upstairs.
The tipstaff waited cheerfully enough, until he heard the crack of
a revolver-shot echo through the passages of the big boarding-house.
Then he rushed upstairs--to find that Gavan Blake had gone before
another Court than the one that was waiting for him so anxiously.