PART THE FIRST. (continued 2)

"Never in a criminal court, in the case of a man arraigned upon so grave a charge, has there been heard a defence so weak and strange; but it is nevertheless a fact that the prisoner's earnest and, to all appearance, ingenuous manner produced a deep impression upon all who heard him; and when he ceased speaking there was, in the murmurs of astonishment that followed, an unmistakable note of sympathy.

"After a slight pause the Attorney-general rose to sum up the case against the prisoner, and his incisive judicial utterances soon dispelled the impression which the prisoner's earnestness had produced. He said that in the circumstances of the case his speech would be briefer than it otherwise would have been. He had a duty to perform, and he would perform it, without, he hoped, any undue severity or harshness. Unhappily the evidence was only too clear against the prisoner, and unhappily the prisoner had strengthened the case against himself. This was not a matter of sentiment it was a matter of justice, and justice must be done. With slight limitations, around which the prisoner threw a veil of silence, contenting himself to cast suspicion upon them by some kind of mysterious implication which no person could understand, and not venturing to give them a distinct and indignant denial--with slight limitations, then, the prisoner had admitted the truthfulness of the evidence brought against him. As the prisoner had not directly referred to these doubtful points in the evidence, he would himself do so, and endeavor to clear away any latent doubt--if such existed--in the minds of the jury. First, with respect to the ulster. The prisoner did not deny that he wore this ulster on the whole of the day his coachman, James Moorhouse, was driving him to various places, and it was only upon his arrival home at midnight that he endeavored to shake the coachman's evidence as to whether, when he entered the carriage, upon leaving Prevost's Restaurant, and upon his issuing from the carriage when the coachman drew up at his house, he still had this ulster on. What his motive was in endeavoring to shake the coachman's testimony upon this point it was impossible to say. He (the learned counsel) had most carefully considered the matter, and the only conclusion he could arrive at was that the prisoner was anxious to instil a doubt into the minds of the jury, that it was not he who left the restaurant at ten minutes to twelve and entered his carriage, and that it was not he who alighted from the carriage and opened his street door. But supposing, for instance, that this argument had a foundation in fact, was it not easy for the prisoner to prove what he had done with himself between ten minutes to twelve on the night of the 25th of March and seven o'clock on the morning of the 26th? Surely some person or persons must have seen him, and had he produced those persons there would have been a reasonable alibi set up, which it would be the duty of every one engaged in this case seriously to consider. Indeed, he would go so far as to say that, admitting such evidence to be brought forward and established, there could not be found a jury who would convict the prisoner of the charge brought against him. It would then have been proved that the prisoner had not seen his wife from eleven o'clock on the morning of the 25th of March until seven o'clock on the morning of the 26th, and as it was during the night of those days that the unhappy lady met her death, it would have been impossible to bring the prisoner in guilty. But, easy as this evidence must have been to produce, there is not only no attempt to produce it, but in his lamentably impotent speech the prisoner does not even refer to it. In his mind, then, and in the minds of all reasonable men, there could not be a doubt that this was the case of one who, in despair, was catching at a straw to save himself. The learned counsel touched briefly but incisively upon every point in the evidence concerning which the prisoner had maintained silence, and had made no endeavor to confute. For instance, there was the lady whom he had met in Bloomsbury Square, whom he took to Prevost's Restaurant, whom he regaled with a supper which neither he nor she touched--a distinct proof that they were otherwise momentously occupied. The evidence with respect to this lady is irrefragable. She was no shadow, no myth, no creation of the imagination; she was a veritable being of flesh and blood. All the efforts of the prosecution had failed to trace her, and the just deduction was that she was somewhere in biding, afraid to come forward lest she should be incriminated and placed side by side with the prisoner in the dock. The prisoner did not deny her existence, nor that she and he were for several hours in company with each other. Were he innocent, what possible doubt could exist that he would bring her forward to establish his innocence? Were both innocent, would not she of her own accord step forward to prove it? The prisoner, in his address, made certain allusions to honor and conscience, by which he would make it appear that he was guided by his honor and his conscience in the singular method of his defence; and it may be that there existed in him some mistaken sense of chivalry which induced him to do all in his power to screen the partner in his crime. It would have been better for him had he brought his honor and his conscience to bear in the unhappy engagement into which he entered with the unfortunate lady who afterwards became his wife; but it had been amply proved that the marriage was not, on his side at least, a marriage of affection. Distinctly he married her for her money, and distinctly he would be a great gainer by her death. Thus, then, there existed a motive, and not a novel one--for the tragedy has been played many times in the history of crime--for his getting rid of her. He (the counsel for the prosecution) did not wish to press hardly upon the prisoner, who was a man of culture and education, and must feel keenly the position in which he stood, whatever might be his outward demeanor. But it devolved upon him to impress upon the jury not to allow any false sentiment to cause them to swerve from the straight path of duty. They must decide by the evidence which had been presented to them, and it was with a feeling the reverse of satisfactory that he pointed out to them that this evidence could lead to but one result.

"The summing up of the learned judge (which, with the Attorney-general's speech, will be found fully reported in other columns) was a masterly analysis of the evidence which had been adduced. He impressed upon the jury the necessity of calm deliberation, and of absolute conviction before they pronounced their verdict. Circumstantial evidence was, of all evidence, the most perplexing and dangerous. It had, in some rare instances, erred but these exceptions were, happily, few and far between. It had, on the other hand, led to the detection of great criminals, and without its aid many heinous aggressors against the law would slip through the hands of justice. He dismissed the jury to their duty, and he prayed that wisdom might attend their deliberations.

"At half-past three o'clock the jury retired, and it was the general impression that the case would be ended within the hour. The prisoner sat in the dock, shading his eyes with his hand. Not once did he look up to the court. He seemed to be preparing himself for his impending fate. But four o'clock, five o'clock, six o'clock passed, and the suspense grew painful. It was clear that there was not that agreement between the jury which all in court, including even the prisoner, had expected. At twenty minutes past six the foreman of the jury entered the court, and informed the judge that there was no chance of the jury agreeing upon a verdict.

"The Judge. 'Is there any point of law upon which you desire information?'

"The Foreman of the Jury. 'None, my lord.'

"The Judge. 'Is there any discrepancy in the evidence which the jury wish cleared?'

"The Foreman of the Jury. 'No, my lord. It is simply that we cannot agree.'

"The learned judge then intimated that, after so long and patient a trial, he could not lightly dismiss the jury from their duties, and he bade the foreman again retire to a further consideration of the case. The court, he said, would sit late to receive the verdict.

"Seven o'clock, eight o'clock, nine o'clock passed, and then the learned judge sent for the foreman of the jury, and inquired whether any progress had been made towards an agreement.

"The Foreman of the Jury. 'None, my lord. There is no possible chance of the jury agreeing upon a verdict.'

"It was remarked that no person in court appeared to be more surprised than the prisoner, and when the jury were called in and dismissed by the judge from their duties, Edward Layton, before he was removed from the dock by the jailers, leaned eagerly forward to scan their countenances.

"Nothing further transpired, and this unexpected chapter in the Layton mystery was closed."