As the
witnesses' door closed behind him, he found himself at one end of a
long lane, that was hedged on both sides by faces not without a touch
of ferocity about them, and with difficulty kept clear by the
available force of the five Roxham policemen.
"Who sold his daughter?" shouted a great fellow in his ear.
"Let me come, there's a dear man, and have a look at Judas," said a
skinny little woman with a squint, to an individual who blocked her
view.
The crowd caught at the word. "Judas!" it shouted, "go and hang
yourself! Judas! Judas!"
How Philip got out of that he never quite knew, but he did get out
somehow.
Meanwhile, Sir John Bellamy was being examined in court, and,
notwithstanding the almost aggressive innocence of his appearance, he
was not having a very good time. It chanced that he had fallen into
the hands of a rival lawyer, who hated him like poison, and had good
reason to hate him. It is wonderful, by the way, how enemies do spring
up round a man in trouble like dogs who bite a wounded companion to
death, and on the same principle. He is defenceless. This gentleman
would insist on conducting the witnesses' examination on the basis
that he knew all about the fraud practised with reference to the
supposed death of Arthur Heigham.
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