:OLmi gOTW-iiCAU '* 
THE STORY OF SEVENOAKS. 
need time for consultation, and, as there is 
a little preliminary work to be done before 
I present another witness, I suggest that the 
Court take a recess of an hour. In the mean- 
time, I wish to secure photographic copies of 
the signatures of the two autograph letters, 
and of the four signatures of the assignment. 
I ask the Court to place these documents in 
the keeping of an officer, to be used for this 
purpose, in an adjoining room, where I have 
caused a photographic apparatus to be placed, 
and where a skillful operator is now in wait- 
ing. I ask this privilege, as it is essential 
to a perfect demonstration of the character 
of the document on which the decision of 
this case must turn.” 
The Judge acceded to Mr. Balfour’s re- 
quest, both in regard to the recess and the 
use of the paper; and the assembly broke up 
into little knots of earnest talkers, most of 
whom manifested no desire to leave the 
building. 
Mr. Cavendish approached Mr. Balfour, 
and asked for a private interview. When 
they had retired to a lobby, he said : 
“ You are not to take any advantage of 
this conversation. I wish to talk in con- 
fidence.” 
“ Very well,” said Mr. Balfour. 
My client,” said Cavendish, is in a 
devilish bad box. His principal witness has 
run away, his old friends all turn against 
him, and circumstantial evidence doesn’t 
befriend him. I have advised him to stop 
this suit right here, and make a compromise. 
No one wants to kill the General. He’s a 
sharp man, but he is good-natured, and a 
useful citizen. He can handle these patents 
better than Benedict can, and make money 
enough for both of them. What could 
Benedict do if he had the patents in his 
hands ? He’s a simpleton. He’s a nobody. 
Any man capable of carrying on his busi- 
ness would cheat him out of his eye-teeth.” 
‘‘ I am carrying on his business, myself, 
just at this time,” remarked Mr. Balfour, 
seriously. 
‘‘That’s all right, of course; but you 
know that you and I can settle this busi- 
ness better for these men than they can set- 
tle it for themselves.” 
“ I’ll be frank with you,” said Mr. Balfour. 
“ I am not one who regards Robert Belcher 
as a good-natured man and a useful citizen, 
and I, for one — to use your own phrase — 
want to kill him. He has preyed upon the 
public for ten years, and I owe a duty not 
only to my client but to society. I under- 
stand how good a bargain I could make 
with him at this point, but I will make no 
bargain with him. He is an unmitigated 
scoundrel, and he will only go out of this 
court to be arrested for crime; and I do 
not expect to drop him until I drop him 
into a penitentiary, where he can reflect 
upon his forgeries at leisure.” 
“ Then you refuse any sort of a compro- 
“ My dear sir,” said Mr. Balfour, warmly, 
“ do you suppose I can give a man a right 
to talk of terms who is in my hands ? Do 
you suppose I can compromise with crime ? 
You know I can’t.” 
“ Very well — ^let it go. I suppose I must 
go through with it. You understand that 
this conversation is confidential.” 
“I do ; and you ? ” 
“ Oh, certainly!” 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
IN WHICH A HEAVENLY WITNESS APPEARS 
WHO CANNOT BE CROSS-EXAMINED, AND 
BEFORE WHICH THE DEFENSE UTTERLY 
BREAKS DOWN. 
At the re-assembling of the Court, a large 
crowd had come in. Those who had heard 
the request of Mr. Balfour had reported 
what was going on, and, as the promised 
testimony seemed to involve some curious 
features, the court-room presented the most 
crowded appearance that it had worn since 
the beginning of the trial. 
Mr. Belcher had grown old during the 
hour. His consciousness of guilt, his fear 
of exposure, the threatened loss of his for- 
tune, and the apprehension of a retribution 
of disgrace were sapping his vital forces, 
minute by minute. All the instruments that 
he had tried to use for his own base pur- 
poses were turned against himself. The 
great world that had glittered around the 
successful man was growing dark, and, 
what was worse, there were none to pity 
him. He had lived for himself; and now, 
in his hour of trouble, no one was true to 
him, no one loved him — ^not even his wife 
and children 1 
He gave a helpless, hopeless sigh, as Mr. 
Balfour called to the witness stand Professor 
Albert Timms. 
Professor Timms was the man already 
described among the three new witnesses, as 
the one who seemed to be conscious of 
bearing the world upon his shoulders, and 
to find it so inconsiderable a burden. He 
advanced to the stand with the air of one 
