The Appeal

an excerpt from the beginning of the story: It was the first day of the trial of William Pennfield for the wilful murder of his wife Eliza, and a weak ray of October sunshine fell upon the massive suavity of the face of Bulford Bulfit, K.C., as he concluded his opening speech with one of those lucid summaries for which he was justly reputed among his professional brethren. Bulford Bulfit was not of the order of prosecuting counsel who will pursue a prisoner with savage and relentless energy, who will browbeat his witnesses, and passionately denounce his crime. He had made his reputation in the civil courts, where he had specialised in that branch of litigation which is one of the most flourishing by-products of the motor industry. Even then, he had never been known to state a case unfairly. Rather, he would put the arguments on both sides with such exhaustive impartiality that the opposing counsel would feel that there was little left to say - and that little could only show him to the jury as a prejudiced advocate. Was it the fault of Bulford Bulfit if the facts were such that the balance must decline, however gently, in his client's favour, when he weighed them so carefully, and in such an equal scale? Was it wonderful if the jury were disposed to be guided by his cooler judgement, rather than by the obvious bias of an opposing advocate, or by the cautious hesitation and Janus-counsels of the learned judge? After nine years of these interesting efforts, I will not say to pervert - for we know that English justice is never perverted - but to divert its course in the interests of those who hired him (which is the only reasonable object of paying huge fees for ingenious advocacy), he found himself briefed for the Crown in a criminal case of the first importance - one of those cases which excite the interest of literally a hundred million readers of the daily press of two hemispheres, and, however simple in themselves, will leave the names of the legal gentlemen who are engaged upon them in the dazzling splendour of a world-wide fame. It was the general feeling that a man who was obviously guilty, and admittedly contemptible, was fortunate to have the case against him put into the hands of so fair-minded and considerate an advocate. The jury would be able to deliver the expected verdict with the comfortable knowledge that there had not been any straining of evidence, nor even any severity of epithet, against the wretched culprit whom it was their unpleasant duty to deliver to the hangman's hand. Now we may hear the main facts very clearly marshalled if we listen to him as he concludes a three hours' speech with an impressive deliberation, summarising the evidence which he proposes to call - "Such," he is saying - "such is the case which it is my duty to lay before you. "There is the fact - the admitted fact - that the prisoner was on bad terms with his wife. It will probably appear that he had reasons - perhaps serious reasons - for complaint against her. Reasons which may have excited sympathy in his favour among their mutual friends - which might have excited your own. Reasons which might condone, if they could not excuse, the crime of murder, in a perverted mind, when the pressure of other urgencies, all pointing in the same terrible direction, were added. "There is the fact - the admitted fact - that the prisoner was living on terms of intimacy with Gladys Portman, and you will hear her tell you that she knew him as William Straker, and was not aware that he was a married man. She will tell you that she is about to become a mother, and that she was urging him to marry her - that she had discovered the place of his employment, and had threatened to make trouble for him there, unless he fulfilled his promise before the end of the fatal month which was to see the death - the sudden, unexpected death...