On the morning of the hearing, Brodribb appeared at our chambers accompanied by his clients, Mr. Giles Engleheart and his mother, to whom he presented us in his old-fashioned, courtly manner.
“I thought it best,” he explained, “that you should not meet in court as strangers. I have introduced Anstey already, and I think he is going to join us here. So we shall be able to make our descent on the Halls of Justice in a united body and thereby impress the opposition.”
“I suspect,” said Mrs. Engleheart, “that the opposition is not so easily impressed. But my boy and I will feel some encouragement if we arrive escorted by our champions. Have we plenty of time?” she added, glancing a little anxiously at her watch.
“We have,” replied Brodribb, “if Anstey doesn’t keep us waiting. Ah! Here he is,” and, as a quick footstep was heard on the stair, he strode over to the door and threw it open, when our leading counsel entered with an exaggerated pretence of haste, holding his watch in his hand.
“Come,” he exclaimed, “this won’t do. We ought to be starting.”
“But,” said Mrs. Engleheart, “we have been waiting for you, Mr. Anstey.”
“Exactly,” he retorted, “that is what I meant.” Then, as the lady, unaccustomed to his whimsicalities, looked at him in some perplexity, he continued, briskly: “It is always desirable to be in court early on the opening day. Are we all ready? Then let us go forth and make our way to the scene of conflict. But not too much like a procession. And I want to have a few words with you, Thorndyke, en route.”
With this, he took Thorndyke’s arm and led the way out. Brodribb followed with Mrs. Engleheart and I brought up the rear with her son.
As we walked at a leisurely pace—set by Anstey—across the precincts by way of the Cloisters and Pump Court, I took the opportunity to consider my companion as to his appearance and personality in general; and in all respects I was very favourably impressed, as I had been by the gentle dignity of his mother. Giles Engleheart was not only a fine, strapping, handsome young man and very unmistakeably a gentleman, but—like his mother—he conveyed the impression of a kindly, generous and amiable disposition. But, unlike his mother, he seemed disposed to regard the legal proceedings as a gigantic joke.
“Well, Mr. Engleheart,” I said, by way of making conversation, “I think we shall make pretty short work of your American rival.”
“Do you?” said he. “I don’t think Mr. Brodribb is so confident; and for my part, I rather hope you won’t make it too short. He ought to have a run for his money—and he may give us a run for ours. After all, you know, sir, his statements are pretty definite, and we’ve no right to assume that he is a liar. And, if he isn’t, his statements are probably true. And, if they are true, we’ve got to imagine George Augustus, fourth Earl of Winsborough, with his sleeves rolled up and a black linen apron on his tummy, pulling at the handles of the beer engine in a London pub. It’s a quaint idea. I’m all agog to hear his counsel tell the story and trot out his evidence.”
“For my part,” said I, “I can’t bring myself to view the claim as anything more than a gross and crude imposture, and I shouldn’t be surprised if the case ended in a charge of perjury.”
“Do you mean against Mr. Pippet?” he asked.
“I don’t know anything about Pippet,” I replied, “but I look with considerable suspicion on his solicitor.”
Engleheart laughed cheerfully. “You are like Mr. Brodribb,” said he. “The very mention of the name of Gimbler makes him spit—metaphorically—whereas I never hear it without thinking of Jabberwocky and the Slithy Toves.”
“What is the connexion?” I asked, rather foolishly. “Don’t you remember, sir?” said he. “The Slithy Toves ‘did gyre and gimble in the wabe.’ Therefore they were gimblers. Q.E.D.”
“Perhaps,” said I, laughing at his schoolboy joke, “Mr. Brodribb has noticed the connexion and suspects our friend of an intention to ‘gyre and gimble’ in a legal sense. And perhaps he is right. Time will show. But here we are at what Anstey calls ‘the scene of conflict.’”
Entering the great doorway, we followed our friends along the rather gloomy passages until Anstey pushed open a heavy swing door and stood, holding it open while Mrs. Engleheart and the rest of us passed through. Then he and Thorndyke and I retired to the robing room and hastily donned our wigs and gowns.
When we returned to the court, the clock showed that there was still a quarter of an hour to spare, and, with the exception of one or two reporters, a few spectators in the gallery, and a stray barrister, we had the place to ourselves. But not for long. Even as the quarter was chiming, the heavy and noisy swing doors were pushed open and a party of strangers entered.
There was no doubt as to who they were, for, though I had not recognized the name of Gimbler, I recognized the man, having seen him on several occasions at the Central Criminal Court; a big, burly man with a large, rather fat face, and small, furtive eyes; a sly-looking fellow, I decided, and forthwith wrote him down a knave. But the other members of the party gave me quite a little surprise. There were three of them—two women and a man; and the out-standing fact which instantly impressed me was their imposing appearance. It was not only that they were all well above the average of good looks, though that was a fact worth noting; but they all had the unmistakeable appearance and bearing of gentlefolk.
Of course, my surprise was quite unreasonable, being due to an entirely gratuitous pre-conceived idea. But still more unreasonable was the instant change in my state of mind in regard to the claim. Looking at the claimant—as I assumed him to be, seeing that there was no other man—I found myself talking a revised view of the case. Clearly, this fine, upstanding gentleman with his clear-cut, strong, reposeful face, was an entirely different creature from the raffish cosmopolitan adventurer of my imagination, who had come over to “tell the tale” and try to snatch a stray fortune.
The two parties—our own and “the opposition”—took an undissembled interest in one another, and Mr. Giles conveyed his sentiments to me in an undertone.
“Good-looking crowd, sir, aren’t they? If that young lady is a fair sample of an American girl, I am going to emigrate if we lose the case.”
“And if you don’t lose the case?” I asked.
“Well, sir,” he replied, smilingly evading the question, “I shall be able to pay my lawyer, which will be pleasant for us both.”
Here my attention was diverted by what looked like a difference between Mr. Gimbler and his client. The solicitor appeared distinctly annoyed and I heard him say, almost angrily:
“I do certainly object. It would be entirely out of order.”
“No doubt you are right, as a lawyer,” was the calm reply; “but I am not a lawyer,” and, with this, he turned away from his legal adviser, and, to that gentleman’s evident dismay, began to move across in our direction. As he was obviously bearing down on us with intent, we all, excepting Mrs. Engleheart, stood up, and I could hear Brodribb muttering under his breath.
Having saluted us with a comprehensive bow, the stranger addressed himself to our old friend.
“I believe you are Mr. Brodribb.”
“At your service, sir,” was the reply, accompanied by a bow of such extreme stiffness that I seemed to hear him creak.
“I understand,” said Mr. Pippet, “that I am committing a gross breach of legal etiquette. But etiquette is made for man, especially for European man, and I am venturing to take an aboriginal view of the matter. Would it appear particularly shocking if I were to ask you to do me the honour of presenting me to your clients?”
“I think,” replied Brodribb, recovering himself somewhat, “that I should survive the shock, and my clients, I am sure, will be delighted to make your acquaintance.”
With this he proceeded, with the air of a Gold-Stick-in-Waiting approaching a royal personage, to present the American to Mrs. Engleheart.
“This is most kind of you, Mr. Pippet,” the lady exclaimed with a gracious smil
e. “Mr. Brodribb is quite right. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, and so, I am sure, will my son be. May I introduce him?”
Here Giles stepped forward and the two men shook hands heartily.
“It is very good of you, sir, to make this friendly move,” said he, “seeing that our presence here is not exactly helpful to you.”
“But,” said Mr. Pippet, “that is just my point. All this talk of fights and battles and contests that I have been hearing from my solicitor makes me tired. I am not here to fight anybody, and neither, I take it, are you. There are certain matters of alleged fact that I am submitting for the consideration and judgment of the court. I don’t know whether they are true or not. That is for the court to find out. My lawyers will argue that they are, and yours will argue that they are not. Let us leave it to them. There’s no need for us to have any unfriendly feeling about it. Isn’t that so, Mr. Brodribb?”
“There is no reason,” Brodribb replied cautiously, “why opposing litigants should not be personally friendly—without prejudice, of course. But you are not forgetting that these proceedings involve certain consequences. If the decision is in your favour, you obtain possession of a title of nobility and property of great value, which Mr. Engleheart thereby loses; and vice versa.”
“Not quite vice versa, Mr. Brodribb,” Mr. Pippet corrected. “The cases are not identical. If the court decides that my respected grandfather was not the Earl of Winsborough, Mr. Engleheart steps into the late Earl’s shoes as soon as the death has been presumed, and I retire out of the picture. But, if it is decided that my grandfather was the Earl, then, as I have no male descendants, Mr. Engleheart has only to wait for those shoes until I step out of them.”
I could see that this statement made a considerable impression on both Mr. Brodribb and Mrs. Engleheart; and it did certainly ease the situation materially from their point of view. Brodribb, however, made no comment, and it fell to Mrs. Engleheart to make the acknowledgments.
“Thank you, Mr. Pippet,” said she, “for letting us know the position. I won’t pretend that I am not very much relieved to know that it is only a question of postponement for my son. But, whichever way the decision goes, I hope it will be a long time before a vacancy is declared in those shoes. But you haven’t completed the introductions. Is that very charming girl your daughter?”
“She is, Madam,” was the reply. “My only child; and, with the exception of my sister, who is with her, my only kin in the world—unless it should transpire that I have the honour to be related to you and your son.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Engleheart, “if your kinsfolk are not very numerous, you have reason to be proud of them, as I dare say you are. Do you think they would care to know us?”
“I have their assurance that they would like very much to make your acquaintance,” Mr. Pippet replied; on which Mrs. Engleheart rose and was requesting to be taken to them when they were seen to be moving in our direction, apparently in response to some subtle telegraphic signals on the part of Mr. Pippet. As they approached, I looked them over critically and had to admit that their appearance was at least equal to their pretensions. The elder lady—like the late Queen Victoria—combined a markedly short stature with a most unmistakeable “presence,” aided not a little by the strong, resolute face and a somewhat out-size Roman nose; while the younger was a tall, handsome girl, noticeably like her father and her aunt both in features and in the impression of dignity and character which she conveyed. And both ladies had that un-selfconscious ease of manner that is usually associated with the word “breeding.”
The introductions were necessarily hurried, for the time for the opening of the proceedings was drawing nigh. The clerk had taken his seat at his desk, the reporters were in their places, the ushers had taken up their posts, a few more spectators were drifting into the seats in the public gallery and the counsel had established themselves in their respective places and were now turning over the pages of their briefs—excepting Thorndyke and myself, who had no briefs but were present merely in a watching capacity. Mr. Pippet returned to the place where his solicitor sat glumly by the solicitor’s table, but the two ladies remained with our party, Miss Pippet sitting by Mrs. Engleheart and the young lady (who, I gathered, bore the picturesque old English name of Jenifer) by Mr. Giles.
They had hardly settled themselves when the judge entered and took his seat on the bench. Having laid some papers on his desk, he leaned back in his seat and ran his eye with undissembled interest over the parties to the proceedings.
“Now,” Miss Jenifer remarked in a low tone to her companion, “we are going to hear whether we are cousins or only friends.”
“Or both,” added Giles.
“Of course,” said she. “That was what I meant. But we mustn’t talk. The play is going to begin; and that nice-looking old gentleman in that quaint wig has got his eye on us.”
Thereupon she subsided into silence, and Mr. McGonnell proceeded to open the case.
CHAPTER VIII
The Opening of the Case
“This, my lord,” said Mr. McGonnell, rising and turning an ingratiating eye on the bench, “is an application by Mr. Christopher Josiah Pippet, a citizen of the United States, for permission to presume the death of Percy Engleheart, sixth Earl of Winsborough, but there are certain peculiar and unusual features in the case. The application is opposed by the representatives of the Earl, who challenge the locus standi of the applicant on the ground that he is, as they allege, a stranger having no legitimate interest or concern in the estate of the said Earl. The applicant, on the other hand, affirms, and is prepared to prove, that he is the direct descendant of the fourth Earl of Winsborough, and that he is, in effect, the heir presumptive to the earldom and the settled estate.
“Accordingly, the applicant petitions to be allowed to produce evidence of his title to the estate and to obtain a decision on that issue as an issue antecedent to the application for permission to presume death.”
The judge looked keenly at the counsel during the making of this statement and then he turned a slightly curious glance on Mr. Pippet and from him to his solicitor.
“I must be perfectly clear,” said he, “as to the scope of this further application. There appears to be a claim to a title and to the settled property associated with it. Now, I need not remind you that claims in respect of titles of honour lie within the jurisdiction of the House of Lords through a Committee of Privileges.”
“We realize that, my lord,” said Mr. McGonnell.
“But we are not seeking a final and conclusive decision in this court on the question whether the applicant, Christopher Pippet, is or is not entitled to succeed the present tenant, Earl Percy, but merely whether he has such an interest in the estate as will give him the locus standi necessary to entitle him to make an application to presume the death of the said Earl Percy.”
“That application,” said the judge, “implies certain further proceedings, including, perhaps, a petition to the House of Lords.”
“That is so, my lord,” counsel agreed. “But we are in a difficulty, and we ask your lordship to exercise a discretion in the matter of procedure. Our difficulty is this: There is reason to believe that Earl Percy is dead; but no direct evidence of his death exists. Consequently, he is, in a legal sense, a living person; and, since no one can be the heir of a living person, it is not possible for Mr. Pippet to initiate proceedings in the House of Lords. Before any such proceedings could become possible it would be necessary for the death of Earl Percy to be either proved or presumed.
“Therefore, the applicant applies for the permission of the court to presume the death. But his right to make this application is contested on the grounds that I have mentioned. Thus he is in this dilemma: He cannot prove his claim until death is presumed, and he cannot apply for permission to presume death until he has proved his claim. But this dilemma, it is submitted, is contrary to the interests of justice; and we accordingly ask your lordship to hear such evidence as
shall establish the applicant’s position as a person having such an interest in the estate as renders him competent to make the application.”
“It is not perfectly clear,” said the judge, “that the fact of his having this belief in his title to succeed does not constitute him an interested party to that extent. But we need not go into that, as the issue is not raised. What is the position of the Earl’s representatives in regard to the heir presumptive?”
“Our position, my lord,” said Anstey, rising as the other counsel sat down, “is that the heir presumptive is Mr. Giles Engleheart, the only son of the late Charles Engleheart, Esquire, who was the Earl’s first cousin. Apart from Mr. Pippet’s claim, there is no doubt whatever about Mr. Engleheart’s position. It is not contested. And I may say, if it is permissible, that we are in full agreement with what my learned friend has just said with regard to the applicant’s claim. Since the question has been raised, we submit that it is desirable that the applicant be permitted to produce such evidence as may establish the existence or non-existence of a prima facie case. We agree with my learned friend that the present impasse is against the interests of justice.”
“Yes,” said the judge, “there ought certainly to be some escape from the dilemma which the learned counsel for the applicant has mentioned. The actual claim will, no doubt, have to be decided in another place; but there is no objection to such provisional proof as may be necessary for the purposes of the present application. I am therefore prepared to hear the evidence in support of the applicant’s claim.”
He looked at Mr. McGonnell, who thereupon rose and proceeded to open the preliminary case, by a recital of the alleged facts in much the same terms as the sketch which I had heard from Mr. Brodribb, but in somewhat greater detail; and, as I listened, with my eyes on the judge’s face, to the unfolding of that incredible and ridiculous story, I was once more astonished that anyone should have the confidence to tell it seriously in a court of law. How it impressed the judge it was impossible to tell. Judges, as a class, are not easily surprised, nor are they addicted to giving facial expression to their emotions; and the present specimen was a particularly wooden-faced old gentleman. All that I could gather from my observations of his countenance was that he appeared to be listening with close attention and placid interest.
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