University of Virginia Library

26. CHAPTER XXVI.
IN WHICH THE CASE OF “BENEDICT vs. BELCHER” FINDS ITSELF
IN COURT, AN INTERESTING QUESTION OF IDENTITY
IS SETTLED, AND A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE
TAKES PLACE.

“Oyez! Oyez! All-persons-having-business-to-do-with-the-Circuit-Court-of-the-United-States-for-the
- Southern-District-of-New-York,-draw
- near,-give-your-attention,-and - you - shall - be-heard.”

“That's the crier,” whispered Mr. Benedict to Jim.

“What's the matter of 'im?” inquired the latter.

“That's the way they open the court.”

“Well, if he opens it with cryin', he'll have a tough time a
shuttin' on it,” responded Jim, in a whisper so loud that he
attracted attention.

There within the bar sat Mr. Balfour, calmly examining his
papers. He looked up among the assembled jurors, witnesses
and idlers, and beckoned Benedict to his side. There sat
Robert Belcher with his counsel. The great rascal was flashily
dressed, with a stupendous show of shirt-front, over which fell,
down by the side of the diamond studs, a heavy gold chain.
Brutality, vulgarity, self-assurance and an over-bearing will,
all expressed themselves in his broad face, bold eyes and
heavy chin. Mr. Cavendish, with his uneasy scalp, white hands,
his scornful lips and his thin, twitching nostrils, looked the
very impersonation of impatience and contempt. If the whole
court-room had been thronged with vermin instead of human
beings, among which he was obliged to sit, he could not have
appeared more disgusted. Quite retired among the audience,
and deeply veiled, sat Mrs. Dillingham. Mr. Belcher detected

her, and, though he could not see her face, felt that he
could not be mistaken as to her identity. Why was she there?
Why, but to notice the progress and issue of the trial, in her
anxiety for him? He was not glad to see her there.

He beckoned for Phipps, who sat uneasily, with a scared
look upon his face, among the crowd.

“Is that Mrs. Dillingham?” he asked in a whisper.

Phipps assured him that it was. Then Mr. Belcher wrote
upon his card the words: “Do not, for my sake, remain in
this room.”

“Give this to her,” he said to his servant.

The card was delivered, but the lady, quite to his surprise,
did not stir. He thought of his little book, but it seemed
impossible that his idol, who had so long been hidden from
his sight and his knowledge, could betray him.

A jury was empanneled, the case of Benedict vs. Belcher
was called, and the counsel of both parties declared themselves
ready for the trial.

The suit was for damages, in the sum of half a million dollars,
for the infringement of patents on machines, implements
and processes, of which it was declared that the plaintiff was
the first and only inventor. The answer to the complaint alleged
the disappearance and death of Benedict, and declared
the plaintiff to be an impostor, averred the assignment of all
the patents in question to the defendant, and denied the profits.

The judge, set somewhat deep in his shirt-collar, as if his
head and his heart were near enough together to hold easy
communication, watched the formal proceedings listlessly, out
of a pair of pleasant eyes, and when they were completed,
nodded to Mr. Balfour, in indication that he was ready to
proceed.

Mr. Balfour, gathering his papers before him, rose to make
the opening for the prosecution.

“May it please the Court,” he said, “and gentlemen of
the jury, I have to present to you a case, either issue of which

it is not pleasant for me to contemplate. Either my client
or the defendant will go out of this court, at the conclusion
of this case, a blackened man; and, as I have a warm friendship
for one of them, and bear no malice to the other, I am
free to confess that, while I seek for justice, I shrink from the
results of its vindication.”

Mr. Cavendish jumped up and interjected spitefully: “I
beg the gentleman to spare us his hypothetical sentiment. It
is superfluous, so far as my client is concerned, and offensive.”

Mr. Balfour waited calmly for the little explosion and the
clearing away of the smoke, and then resumed. “I take no
pleasure in making myself offensive to the defendant and his
counsel,” said he, “but, if I am interrupted, I shall be compelled
to call things by their right names, and to do something
more than hint at the real status of this case. I see other
trials, in other courts, at the conclusion of this action,—other
trials with graver issues. I could not look forward to them
with any pleasure, without acknowledging myself to be a knave.
I could not refrain from alluding to them, without convicting
myself of carelessness and frivolity. Something more than
money is involved in the issue of this action. Either the
plaintiff or the defendant will go out of this court wrecked in
character, blasted in reputation, utterly ruined. The terms
of the bill and the answer determine this result.”

Mr. Cavendish sat through this exordium as if he sat on
nettles, but wisely held his tongue, while the brazen-faced
proprietor leaned carelessly over, and whispered to his counsel.
Phipps, on his distant seat, grew white around the lips,
and felt that he was on the verge of the most serious danger
of his life.

“The plaintiff, in this case,” Mr. Balfour went on,
“brings an action for damages for the infringement of various
patent rights. I shall prove to you that these patents were
issued to him, as the first and only inventor; that he has
never assigned them to any one; that they have been used by
the defendant for from seven to ten years, to his great profit;

that he is using them still without a license, and without rendering
a just consideration for them. I shall prove to you
that the defendant gained his first possession of these inventions
by a series of misrepresentations, false promises, oppressions
and wrongs, and has used them without license in
consequence of the weakness, illness, poverty and defencelessness
of their rightful owner. I shall prove to you that their
owner was driven to insanity by these perplexities and the
persecutions of the defendant, and that even after he became
insane, the defendant tried to secure the execution of the
assignment which he had sought in vain during the sanity of
the patentee.

“I will not characterize by the name belonging to it
the instrument which is to be presented in answer to the bill
filed in this case, further than to say that it has no legal
status whatsoever. It is the consummate fruit of a tree that
was planted in fraud; and if I do not make it so to appear, before
the case is finished, I will beg pardon of the court, of you,
gentlemen of the jury, and especially of the defendant and
his honorable counsel. First, therefore, I offer in evidence
certified copies of the patents in question.”

Mr. Balfour read these documents, and they were examined
both by Mr. Cavendish and the court.

The name of Paul Benedict was then called, as the first
witness.

Mr. Benedict mounted the witness stand. He was pale and
quiet, with a pink tinge on either cheek. He had the bearing
and dress of a gentleman, and contrasted strangely with the
coarse, bold man to whom he had been indebted for so many
wrongs and indignities. He was at last in the place to which
he had looked forward with so much dread, but there came
to him a calmness and a self-possession which he had not
anticipated. He was surrounded by powerful friends. He
was menaced, too, by powerful enemies, and all his manhood
was roused.

“What is your name?” asked Mr. Balfour.

“Paul Benedict.”

“Where were you born?”

“In the city of New York.”

“Are you the inventor of the machines, implements and
processes named in the documents from the Patent Office
which have just been read in your hearing?”

“I am, sir.”

“And you are the only owner of all these patent rights?”

“I am, sir.”

“What is your profession?”

“I was trained for a mechanical engineer.”

“What has been your principal employment?”

“Invention.”

“When you left New York, whither did you go?”

“To Sevenoaks.”

“How many years ago was that?”

“Eleven or twelve, I suppose.”

“Now I want you to tell to the Court, in a plain, brief way,
the history of your life in Sevenoaks, giving with sufficient
detail an account of all your dealings with the defendant in
this case, so that we may perfectly understand how your inventions
came into Mr. Belcher's hands, and why you have
never derived any benefit from them.”

It was a curious illustration of the inventor's nature that,
at this moment, with his enemy and tormentor before him,
he shrank from giving pain. Mr. Cavendish noticed his hesitation,
and was on his feet in an instant. “May it please the
court,” said he, “there is a question concerning identity that
comes up at this point, and I beg the privilege of asking it here.”

The judge looked at Mr. Balfour, and the latter said:
“Certainly.”

“I would like to ask the witness,” said Mr. Cavendish,
“whether he is the Paul Benedict who left the city about the
time at which he testifies that he went away, in consequence
of his connection with a band of counterfeiters. Did you,
sir, invent their machinery, or did you not?”

“I did not,” answered the witness—his face all aflame.
The idea that he could be suspected, or covertly charged, with
crime, in the presence of friends and strangers, was so terrible
that the man tottered on his feet.

Mr. Cavendish gave a significant glance at his client,
whose face bloomed with a brutal smile, and then sat down.

“Is that all?” inquired Mr. Balfour.

“All, for the present,” responded Mr. Cavendish, sneeringly,
and with mock courtesy.

“May it please the Court,” said Mr. Balfour, “I hope I
may be permitted to say that the tactics of the defendant are
worthy of his cause.” Then turning to Mr. Benedict, he
said, “I trust the witness will not be disturbed by the insult
that has been gratuitously offered him, and will tell the history
which I have asked him to tell.”

Mr. Cavendish had made a mistake. At this insult, and
the gratification which it afforded Mr. Belcher, the inventor's
pity died out of him, and he hardened to his work.

“When I went to Sevenoaks,” said he, “I was very poor,
as I have always been since. I visited Mr. Belcher's mill,
and saw how great improvements could be made in his
machines and processes; and then I visited him, and told him
what I could do for him. He furnished me with money for
my work, and for securing the patents on my inventions, with
the verbal promise that I should share in such profits as might
accrue from their use. He was the only man who had money;
he was the only man who could use the inventions; and he
kept me at work, until he had secured everything that he
wished for. In the meantime, I suffered for the lack of the
necessaries of life, and was fed from day to day, and month
to month, and year to year, on promises. He never rendered
me any returns, declared that the patents were nearly
useless to him, and demanded, as a consideration for the
money he had advanced to me, the assignment of all my
patents to him. My only child was born in the midst of my
early trouble, and such were the privations to which my wife

was subjected that she never saw a day of health after the
event. She died at last, and in the midst of my deepest troubles,
Mr. Belcher pursued me with his demands for the assignment
of my patents. He still held me to him by the bestowal
of small sums, which necessity compelled me to accept. He
always had a remarkable power over me, and I felt that he
would lead me to destruction. I saw the hopes of years melting
away, and knew that in time he would beat down my will,
and, on his own terms, possess himself of all the results of
my years of study and labor. I saw nothing but starvation
before me and my child, and went down into a horror of great
darkness.”

A cold shiver ran over the witness, and his face grew pale
and pinched, at this passage of his story. The court-house
was as still as midnight. Even the General lost his smile,
and leaned forward, as if the narration concerned some monster
other than himself.

“What then?” inquired Mr. Balfour.

“I hardly know. Everything that I remember after that
was confused and terrible. For years I was insane. I went
to the hospital, and was there supported by Mr. Belcher. He
even followed me there, and endeavored to get my signature
to an assignment, but was positively forbidden by the superintendent
of the asylum. Then, after being pronounced incurable,
I was sent back to the Sevenoaks alms-house, where,
for a considerable time, my boy was also kept; and from that
horrible place, by the aid of a friend, I escaped. I remember
it all as a long dream of torture. My cure came in the
woods, at Number Nine, where I have ever since lived, and
where twice I have been sought and found by paid emissaries
of Mr. Belcher, who did not love him well enough to betray
me. And, thanks to the ministry of the best friends that God
ever raised up to a man, I am here to-day to claim my rights.”

“These rights,” said Mr. Balfour, “these rights which you
hold in your patented inventions, for all these years used by
the defendant, you say you have never assigned.”

“Never.”

“If an assignment executed in due form should be presented
to you, what should you say?”

“I object to the question,” said Mr. Cavendish, leaping
to his feet. “The document has not yet been presented to
him.

“The gentleman is right,” said Mr. Balfour; “the witness
has never seen it. I withdraw the question; and now tell me
what you know about Mr. Belcher's profits on the use of these
inventions.”

“I cannot tell much,” replied Mr. Benedict. “I know
the inventions were largely profitable to him; otherwise he
would not have been so anxious to own them. I have never
had access to his books, but I know he became rapidly rich
on his manufactures, and that, by the cheapness with which
he produced them, he was able to hold the market, and to
force his competitors into bankruptcy.”

“May it please the Court,” said Mr. Balfour, “I am about
done with this witness, and I wish to say, just here, that if
the defendant stands by his pleadings, and denies his profits,
I shall demand the production of his books in Court. We
can get definite information from them, at least.” Then
bowing to Mr. Benedict, he told him that he had no further
questions to ask.

The witness was about to step down, when the Judge turned
to Mr. Cavendish, with the question: “Does the counsel for
the defendant wish to cross-examine the witness?”

“May it please the Court,” said Mr. Cavendish rising,
“the counsel for the defense regards the examination so far
simply as a farce. We do not admit that the witness is Paul
Benedict, at all—or, rather, the Paul Benedict named in the
patents, certified copies of which are in evidence. The Paul
Benedict therein named, has long been regarded as dead.
This man has come and gone for months in Sevenoaks, among
the neighbors of the real Paul Benedict, unrecognized. He
says he has lived for years within forty miles of Sevenoaks,

and at this late day puts forward his claims. There is nobody
in Court, sir. We believe the plaintiff to be a fraud, and
this prosecution a put-up job. In saying this, I would by no
means impugn the honor of the plaintiff's counsel. Wiser
men than he have been deceived and duped, and he may be
assured that he is the victim of the villainies or the hallucinations
of an impostor. There are men in this room, ready to
testify in this case, who knew Paul Benedict during all his
residence in Sevenoaks; and the witness stands before them
at this moment unrecognized and unknown. I cannot cross-examine
the witness, without recognizing his identity with
the Paul Benedict named in the patents. There is nothing
but a pretender in Court, may it please your honor, and I decline
to have anything to do with him.”

Mr. Cavendish sat down, with the air of a man who
believed he had blasted the case in the bud, and that there
was nothing left to do but to adjourn.

“It seems to the Court, gentlemen,” said the judge in a
quiet tone, “that this question of identity should be settled
as an essential preliminary to further proceedings.”

“May it please your honor,” said Mr. Balfour, rising, “I
did not suppose it possible, after the plaintiff had actually
appeared in court, and shown himself to the defendant, that
this question of identity would be mooted or mentioned.
The defendant must know that I have witnesses here—that I
would not appear here without competent witnesses—who will
place his identity beyond question. It seems, however, that
this case is to be fought inch by inch, on every possible
ground. As the first witness upon this point, I shall call for
James Fenton.”

“Jest call me Jim,” said the individual named, from his
distant seat.

“James Fenton” was called to the stand, and Mr. Benedict
stepped down. Jim advanced through the crowd, his
hair standing very straight in the air, and his face illumined
by a smile that won every heart in the house, except those

of the defendant and his counsel. A war-horse going into
battle, or a hungry man going to his dinner, could not have
manifested more rampant alacrity.

“Hold up your right hand,” said the clerk.

“Sartin,” said Jim. “Both on 'em if ye say so.”

“You solemnly swear m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m- so help you
God!”

“I raally wish, if ye ain't too tired, that ye'd say that over
agin,” said Jim. “If I'm a goin' to make a Happy David,
I want to know what it is.”

The clerk hesitated, and the judge directed him to repeat
the form of the oath distinctly. When this was done, Jim
said: “Thank ye; there's nothin' like startin' squar.”

“James Fenton,” said Mr. Balfour, beginning a question.

“Jest call me Jim: I ain't no prouder here nor I be at
Number Nine,” said the witness.

“Very well, Jim,” said Mr. Balfour smiling, “tell us who
you are.”

“I'm Jim Fenton, as keeps a hotel at Number Nine. My
father was an Englishman, my mother was a Scotchman, I
was born in Ireland, an' raised in Canady, an' I've lived in
Number Nine for more nor twelve year, huntin', trappin'
an' keepin' a hotel. I hain't never ben eddicated, but I can
tell the truth when it's necessary, an' I love my friends an'
hate my enemies.”

“May it please the Court,” said Mr. Cavendish with a
sneer, “I beg to suggest to the plaintiff's counsel that the
witness should be required to give his religious views.”

Mr. Belcher laughed, and Mr. Cavendish sniffed his lips,
as if they had said a good thing.

“Certainly,” responded Mr. Balfour. “What are your
religious views, Jim?”

“Well,” said Jim, “I hain't got many, but I sh'd be
s'prised if there wasn't a brimstone mine on t'other side, with
a couple o' picks in it for old Belcher an' the man as helps
'im.”

The laugh was on Mr. Cavendish. The Court smiled, the
audience roared, and order was demanded.

“That will do,” said Mr. Cavendish. “The religious
views of the witness are definite and satisfactory.”

“Jim, do you know Paul Benedict?” inquired Mr. Balfour.

“Well, I do,” said Jim. “I've knowed 'im ever sence he
come to Sevenoaks.”

“How did you make his acquaintance?”

“He used to come into the woods, fishin' an' huntin'.
Him an' me was like brothers. He was the curisest creetur I
ever seen, an' I hope he takes no 'fense in hearin' me say so.
Ye've seen his tackle, Mr. Balfour, an' that split bamboo o' his,
but the jedge hasn't seen it. I wish I'd brung it along. Fond
of fishin', sir?” And Jim turned blandly and patronizingly to
the Court.

The Judge could not repress a little ripple of amusement,
which, from a benevolent mouth, ran out over his face.
Biting his lips, he said: “The witness had better be confined
to the matter in hand.”

“An' Jedge—no 'fense—but I like yer looks, an' if ye'll
come to Number Nine—it's a little late now—I'll”—

Mr. Cavendish jumped up and said fiercely: “I object to
this trifling.”

“Jim,” said Mr. Balfour, “the defendant's counsel objects
to your trifling. He has a right to do so, particularly as he
is responsible for starting it. Now tell me whether the Paul
Benedict you knew was the only man of the name who has
lived in Sevenoaks since you have lived in Number Nine?”

“He was the only one I ever hearn on. He was the one as
invented Belcher's machines, any way. He's talked about
'em with me a thousand times.”

“Is he in the room?”

“Mostly,” said Jim, with his bland smile.

“Give me a direct answer, now.”

“Yis, he's in this room, and he's a settin' there by you,
an' he's been a stannin' where I stan' now.”

“How do you know that this is the same man who used to
visit you in the woods, and who invented Mr. Belcher's machines?”

“Well, it's a long story. I don't mind tellin' on it, if it
wouldn't be too triflin',” with a comical wink at Mr. Cavendish.

“Go on and tell it,” said Mr. Balfour.

“I knowed Benedict up to the time when he lost his mind,
an' was packed off to the 'Sylum, an' I never seen 'im agin
till I seen 'im in the Sevenoaks' poor-house. I come acrost
his little boy one night on the hill, when I was a trampin'
home. He hadn't nothin' on but rags, an' he was as blue an'
hungry as a spring bar. The little feller teched me ye know—
teched my feelins—an' I jest sot down to comfort 'im. He
telled me his ma was dead, and that his pa was at old Buffum's,
as crazy as a loon. Well, I stayed to old Buffum's that night,
an' went into the poor-house in the mornin', with the doctor.
I seen Benedict thar, an' knowed him. He was a lyin' on
the straw, an' he hadn't cloes enough on 'im to put in tea.
An', says I, `Mr. Benedict, give us your benediction;' an',
says he, `Jim!' That floored me, an' I jest cried and swar'd
to myself. Well, I made a little 'rangement with him an' his
boy, to take 'im to Abram's bosom. Ye see he thought he
was in hell, an' it was a reasomble thing in 'im too; an' I
telled 'im that I'd got a settlement in Abram's bosom, an' I
axed 'im over to spend the day. I took 'im out of the poor-house
an' carried 'im to Number Nine, an' I cured 'im. He's
lived there ever sence, helped me build my hotel, an' I come
down with 'im, to 'tend this Court, an' we brung his little
boy along too, an' the little feller is here, an' knows him
better nor I do.”

“And you declare, under oath, that the Paul Benedict
whom you knew in Sevenoaks, and at Number Nine—before
his insanity—the Paul Benedict who was in the poor-house at
Sevenoaks and notoriously escaped from that institution—
escaped by your help, has lived with you ever since, and has
appeared here in Court this morning,” said Mr. Balfour.

“He's the same feller, an' no mistake, if so be he hain't
slipped his skin,” said Jim, “an' no triflin'. I make my
Happy David on't.”

“Did Mr. Belcher ever send into the woods to find him?”

“Yis,” said Jim, laughing, “but I choked 'em off.”

“How did you choke them off?”

“I telled 'em both I'd lick 'em if they ever blowed. They
didn't want to blow any, to speak on, but Mike Conlin come
in with a hundred dollars of Belcher's money in his jacket,
an' helped me nuss my man for a week; an' I got a Happy
David out o' Sam Yates, an' ther's the dockyment;” and Jim
drew from his pocket the instrument with which the reader is
already familiar.

Mr. Balfour had seen the paper, and told Jim that it was
not necessary in the case. Mr. Belcher looked very red in
the face, and leaned over and whispered to his lawyer.

“That is all,” said Mr. Balfour.

Mr. Cavendish rose. “You helped Mr. Benedict to escape,
did you, Jim?”

“I said so,” replied Jim.

“Did you steal the key when you were there first?”

“No; I borrered it, an' brung it back an left it in the door.”

“Did you undo the fastenings of the outside door?”

“Yis, an' I did 'em up agin.”

“Did you break down the grated door?”

“I remember about somethin' squeakin' an' givin' 'way,”
replied Jim, with a smile. “It was purty dark, an' I couldn't
see 'xactly what was a goin' on.”

“Oh you couldn't! We have your confession, then, that
you are a thief and a burglar, and that you couldn't see the
man you took out.”

“Well, now, Squar, that won't help ye any. Benedict is
the man as got away, an' I saved the town the board of two
paupers an' the cost of two pine coffins, an' sent old Buffum
where he belonged, an' nobody cried but his pertickler friend
as sets next to ye.”

“I beg the Court's protection for my client, against the
insults of this witness,” said Mr. Cavendish.

“When a man calls Jim Fenton a thief an' a buggler, he
must take what comes on't,” said Jim. “Ye may thank yer
everlastin' stars that ye didn't say that to me in the street,
for I should 'a licked ye. I should 'a fastened that slippery
old scalp o' yourn tighter nor a drum-head.”

“Witness,” said the Judge, peremptorily, “you forget
where you are, sir. You must stop these remarks.”

“Jedge look 'ere! When a man is insulted by a lawyer in
court, what can he do? I'm a reasomble man, but I can't
take anybody's sarse. It does seem to me as if a lawyer as
snubs a witness an calls 'im names, wants dressin' down too.
Give Jim Fenton a fair shake, an' he's all right.”

Jim's genial nature and his irrepressible tongue were too
much for the court and the lawyers together. Mr. Cavendish
writhed in his seat. he could do nothing with Jim. He
could neither scare nor control him, and saw that the witness
was only anxious for another encounter. It was too evident
that the sympathy of the jury and the increasing throng of
spectators was with the witness, and that they took delight in
the discomfiture of the defendant's counsel.

“May it please the Court,” said Mr. Cavendish, “after
the disgraceful confessions of the witness, and the revelation
of his criminal character, it will not comport with my own self-respect
to question him further.”

“Paddlin' off, eh?” said Jim, with a comical smile.

“Witness,” said the Judge, “be silent and step down.

“No 'fense, Jedge, I hope?”

“Step down, sir.”

Jim saw that matters were growing serious. He liked the
Judge, and had intended, in some private way, to explain the
condition of his hair as attributable to his fright on being
called into Court as a witness, but he was obliged to relinquish
his plan, and go back to his seat. The expression of his
face must have been most agreeable to the spectators, for there

was a universal giggle among them which called out the reproof
of the Court.

“Helen Dillingham” was next called for. At the pronunciation
of her name, and her quiet progress through the
court-room to the stand, there was a hush in which nothing
was heard but the rustle of her own drapery. Mr. Belcher
gasped, and grew pale. here was the woman whom he madly
loved. Here was the woman whom he had associated with his
scheme of European life, and around whom, more and more,
as his difficulties increased and the possibilities of disaster
presented themselves, he had grouped his hopes and gathered
his plans. Had he been the dupe of her cunning? Was he
to be the object of her revenge? Was he to be betrayed?
Her intimacy with Harry Benedict began to take on new significance.
Her systematic repulses of his blind passion had
an explanation other than that which he had given them.
Mr. Belcher thought rapidly while the formalities which preceded
her testimony were in progress.

Every man in the court-room leaned eagerly forward to
catch her first word. Her fine figure, graceful carriage and
rich dress had made their usual impression.

“Mrs. Dillingham,” said the Judge, with a courteous
bow and gesture, “will you have the kindness to remove your
veil?”

The veil was quietly raised over her hat, and she stood revealed.
She was not pale; she was fresh from the woods, and
in the glory of renewed health. A murmur of admiration
went around the room like the stirring of leaves before a
vagrant breeze.

“Mrs. Dillingham,” said Mr. Balfour, “where do you reside?”

“In this city, sir.”

“Have you always lived here?”

“Always.”

“Do you know Paul Benedict?”

“I do, sir.”

“How long have you known him?”

“From the time I was born until he left New York, after
his marriage.”

“What is his relation to you?”

“He is my brother, sir.”

Up to this answer, she had spoken quietly, and in a voice
that could only be heard through the room by the closest
attention; but the last answer was given in a full, emphatic
tone.

Mr. Belcher entirely lost his self-possession. His face grew
white, his eyes were wild, and raising his clenched fist he
brought it down with a powerful blow upon the table before
him, and exclaimed: “My God!”

The court-room became in an instant as silent as death.
The Judge uttered no reprimand, but looked inquiringly, and
with unfeigned astonishment, at the defendant.

Mr. Cavendish rose and begged the Court to overlook his
client's excitement, as he had evidently been taken off his
guard.

“Paul Benedict is your brother, you say?” resumed Mr.
Balfour.

“He is, sir.”

“What was his employment before he left New York?”

“He was an inventor from his childhood, and received a
careful education in accordance with his mechanical genius.”

“Why did he leave New York?”

“I am ashamed to say that he left in consequence of my
own unkindness.”

“What was the occasion of your unkindness?”

“His marriage with one whom I did not regard as his own
social equal or mine.”

“What was her name?”

“Jane Kendrick.”

“How did you learn that he was alive?”

“Through his son, whom I invited into my house, after he
was brought to this city by yourself.”

“Have you recently visited the cemetery at Seven-oaks?”

“I have, sir.”

“Did you see the grave of your sister-in-law?”

“I did.”

“Was there a headstone upon the grave?”

“There was a humble one.”

“What inscription did it bear?”

“Jane Kendrick, wife of Paul Benedict.”

“When and where did you see your brother first, after your
separation?”

“Early last summer at a place called Number Nine.”

“Did you recognise him?”

“I did, at once.”

“Has anything occurred, in the intercourse of the summer,
to make you suspect that the man whom you recognised as
your brother was an impostor?”

“Nothing. We have conversed with perfect familiarity on
a thousand events and circumstances of our early life. I know
him to be my brother as well as I know my own name, and
my own identity.”

“That is all,” said Mr. Balfour.

“Mrs. Dillingham,” said Mr. Cavendish, after holding a
long whispered conversation with his client, “you were glad
to find your brother at last, were you not?”

“Very glad, sir.”

“Why?”

“Because I was sorry for the misery which I had inflicted
upon him, and to which I had exposed him.”

“You were the victim of remorse, as I understand you?”

“Yes, sir; I suppose so.”

“Were you conscious that your condition of mind unfitted
you to discriminate? Were you not so anxious to find your
brother, in order to quiet your conscience, that you were
easily imposed upon.”

“No, sir, to both questions.”

“Well, madam, such things have happened. Have you
been in the habit of receiving Mr. Belcher at your house?”

“I have.”

“You have been in the habit of receiving gentlemen rather
indiscriminately at your house, haven't you?”

“I object to the question,” said Mr. Balfour quickly. “It
carries a covert insult to the witness.”

Mrs. Dillingham bowed to Mr. Balfour in acknowledgment
of his courtesy, but answered the question. “I have received
you, sir, and Mr. Belcher. I may have been indiscriminate
in my courtesies. A lady living alone cannot always tell.”

A titter ran around the court-room, in which Mr. Belcher
joined. His admiration was too much at the moment for his
self-interest.

“Did you know before you went to Number Nine, that
your brother was there?” inquired Mr. Cavendish.

“I did, and the last time but one at which Mr. Belcher
called upon me I informed him of the fact.”

“That your brother was there?”

“No, that Paul Benedict was there.”

“How did you know he was there?”

“His little boy wrote me from there, and told me so.”

Mr. Cavendish had found more than he sought. He wanted
to harass the witness, but he had been withheld by his
client. Baffled on one hand and restrained on the other—
for Mr. Belcher could not give her up, and learn to hate her
in a moment—he told the witness he had no more questions
to ask.

Mrs. Dillingham drew down her veil again, and walked to
her seat.

Harry Benedict was next called, and after giving satisfactory
answers to questions concerning his understanding of the
nature of an oath, was permitted to testify.

“Harry,” said Mr. Balfour, “were you ever in Mr. Belcher's
house?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell us how it happened that you were there.”

“Mr. Belcher stopped me in the street, and led me up the
steps, and then up stairs into his room.”

“What question did he ask you?”

“He wanted to know whether my father was alive.”

“Did he offer you money if you would tell?”

“Yes, sir; he offered me a great gold piece of money, and
told me it was an eagle.”

“Did you take it?”

“No, sir.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“He tried to scare me, sir.”

“Did he tell you that he should like to give your father
some money?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did you tell him that your father was alive?”

“No, sir, I ran away;” and Harry could not restrain a
laugh at the remembrance of the scene.

“Harry, is your father in this room?”

Harry looked at his father with a smile, and answered,
“Yes, sir.”

“Now, Harry, I want you to pick him out from all these
people. Be sure not to make any mistake. Mr. Belcher has
been so anxious to find him, that I presume he will be very
much obliged to you for the information. Go and put your
hand on him.”

Harry started at a run, and, dodging around the end of the
bar, threw himself into his father's arms. The performance
seemed so comical to the lad, that he burst into a peal of
boyish laughter, and the scene had such a pretty touch of
nature in it, that the spectators cheered, and were only checked
by the stern reprimand of the judge, who threatened the
clearing of the room if such a demonstration should again be
indulged in.

“Does the counsel for the defence wish to cross-examine
the witness?” inquired the judge.

`I believe not,” said Mr. Cavendish, with a nod; and then
Harry went to his seat, at the side of Jim Fenton, who
hugged him so that he almost screamed. “Ye're a brick,
little feller,” Jim whispered. “That was a Happy David, an'
a Goliar into the bargin. You've knocked the Ph'listine this
time higher nor a kite.”

“May it please the Court,” said Mr. Cavendish, “I have
witnesses here who knew Paul Benedict during all his residence
in Sevenoaks, and who are ready to testify that they
do not know the person who presents himself here to-day, as
the plaintiff in this case. I comprehend the disadvantage at
which I stand, with only negative testimony at my command.
I know how little value it has, when opposed to such as has
been presented here; and while I am convinced that my
client is wronged, I shall be compelled, in the end, to accept
the identity of the plaintiff as established. If I believed
the real Paul Benedict, named in the patents in question, in
this case, to be alive, I should be compelled to fight this
question to the end, by every means in my power, but the
main question at issue, as to whom the title to these patents
rests in, can be decided between my client and a man of
straw, as well as between him and the real inventor. That is
the first practical issue, and to save the time of the Court, I
propose to proceed to its trial; and first I wish to cross-examine
the plaintiff.”

Mr. Benedict resumed the stand.

“Witness, you pretend to be the owner of the patents in
question, in this case, and the inventor of the machines, implements
and processes which they cover, do you?” said Mr.
Cavendish.

“I object to the form of the question,” said Mr. Balfour.
“It is an insult to the witness, and a reflection upon the gentleman's
own sincerity, in accepting the identity of the plaintiff.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Cavendish, “since the plaintiff's
counsel is so difficult to please! You are the owner of these
patents, are you?”

“I am, sir.”

“You have been insane, have you sir?”

“I suppose I have been, sir. I was very ill for a long time,
and have no doubt that I suffered from mental alienation.”

“What is your memory of things that occurred immediately
preceding your insanity?”

Mr. Benedict and his counsel saw the bearings of this question,
at once, but the witness would no more have lied than
he would have stolen, or committed murder. So he answered:
“It is very much confused, sir.”

“Oh, it is! I thought so! Then you cannot swear to the
events immediately preceding your attack?”

“I am afraid I cannot, sir, at least, not in their order or
detail.”

“No! I thought so!” said Mr. Cavendish, in his contemptuous
manner, and rasping voice. “I commend your
prudence. Now, witness, if a number of your neighbors
should assure you that, on the day before your attack, you
did a certain thing, which you do not remember to have done,
how should you regard their testimony?”

“If they were credible people, and not unfriendly to me,
I should be compelled to believe them.”

“Why, sir! you are an admirable witness! I did not anticipate
such candor. We are getting at the matter bravely.
We have your confession, then, that you do not remember
distinctly the events that occurred the day before your attack,
and your assertion that you are ready to believe and accept
the testimony of credible witnesses in regard to those
events.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you ever know Nicholas Johnson and James Ramsey?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where did you see them last?”

“In Mr. Belcher's library.”

“On what occasion, or, rather, at what time?”

“I have sad reason to remember both the occasion and the
date, sir. Mr. Belcher had determined to get my signature
to an assignment, and had brought me to his house on another
pretext entirely. I suppose he had summoned these men as
witnesses.”

“Where are these men now?”

“Unhappily, they are both dead.”

“Yes, unhappily indeed—unhappily for my client. Was
there anybody else in the room?”

“I believe that Phipps, Mr. Belcher's man, was coming
and going.”

“Why, your memory is excellent, is it not? And you remember
the date of this event too! Suppose you tell us what
it was.”

“It was the 4th of May, 1860.”

“How confused you must have been!” said Mr. Cavendish.

“These are things that were burnt into my memory,” responded
the witness. “There were other occurrences that
day, of which I have been informed, but of which I have no
memory.”

“Ah, there are! Well, I shall have occasion to refresh your
mind upon still another, before I get through with you.
Now, if I should show you an assignment, signed by yourself
on the very day you have designated, and also signed by
Johnson, Ramsey and Phipps as witnesses, what should you
say to it?”

“I object to the question. The counsel should show the
document to the witness, and then ask his opinion of it,”
said Mr. Balfour.

The Court coincided with Mr. Balfour's view, and ruled
accordingly.

“Very well,” said Mr. Cavendish, “we shall get at that
in good time. Now, witness, will you be kind enough to tell
me how you remember that all this occurred on the 4th of
May, 1860?”

“It happened to be the first anniversary of my wife's
death. I went from her grave to Mr. Belcher's house. The
day was associated with the saddest and most precious memories
of my life.”

“What an excellent memory!” said Mr. Cavendish; rubbing
his white hands together. “Are you familiar with the
signatures of Nicholas Johnson and James Ramsey?”

“I have seen them many times.”

“Would you recognize them, if I were to show them to
you?”

“I don't know sir.”

“Oh! your memory begins to fail now, does it? How is
it that you cannot remember things with which you were
familiar during a series of years, when you were perfectly
sane, and yet can remember things so well that happened
when your mind was confused?”

Mr. Benedict's mind was getting confused again, and he
began to stammer. Mr. Cavendish wondered that, in some
way, Mr. Balfour did not come to the relief of his witness,
but he sat perfectly quiet, and apparently unconcerned. Mr.
Cavendish rummaged among his papers, and withdrew two
letters. These he handed to the witness. “Now,” said he,
“will the witness examine these letters, and tell us whether he
recognizes the signatures as genuine?”

Mr. Benedict took the two letters, of which he had already
heard through Sam Yates, and very carefully read them. His
quick, mechanical eye measured the length and every peculiarity
of the signatures. He spent so much time upon them
that even the court grew impatient.

“Take all the time you need, witness,” said Mr. Balfour.

“All day, of course, if necessary,” responded Mr. Cavendish
raspingly.

“I think these are genuine autograph letters, both of
them,” said Mr. Benedict.

“Thank you: now please hand them back to me.”

“I have special reasons for requesting the Court to impound

these letters,” said Mr. Balfour. “They will be needed
again in the case.”

“The witness will hand the letters to the clerk,” said the
judge.

Mr. Cavendish was annoyed, but acquiesced gracefully.
Then he took up the assignment, and said: “Witness, I hold
in my hand a document signed, sealed and witnessed on the
4th day of May, 1860, by which Paul Benedict conveys to
Robert Belcher his title to the patents, certified copies of
which have been placed in evidence. I want you to examine
carefully your own signature, and those of Johnson and Ramsey.
Happily, one of the witnesses is still living, and is
ready, not only to swear to his own signature, but to yours
and to those of the other witnesses.”

Mr. Cavendish advanced, and handed Benedict the instrument.
The inventor opened it, looked it hurriedly through,
and then paused at the signatures. After examining them
long, with naked eyes, he drew a glass from his pocket, and
scrutinized them with a curious, absorbed look, forgetful, apparently,
where he was.

“Is the witness going to sleep?” inquired Mr. Cavendish;
but he did not stir. Mr. Belcher drew a large handkerchief
from his pocket, and wiped his red, perspiring face. It was
an awful moment to him. Phipps, in his seat, was as pale as
a ghost, and sat watching his master.

At last Mr. Benedict looked up. He seemed as if he had
been deprived of the power of speech. His face was full of
pain and fright. “I do not know what to say to this,” he
said.

“Oh, you don't! I thought you wouldn't! Still, we
should like to know your opinion of the instrument,” said
Mr. Cavendish.

“I don't think you would like to know it, sir,” said Benedict,
quietly.

“What does the witness insinuate?” exclaimed the lawyer,
jumping to his feet. “No insinuations, sir!”

“Insinuations are very apt to breed insinuations,” said the
Judge, quietly. “The witness has manifested no disinclination
to answer your direct questions.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Cavendish. “Is your signature at
the foot of that assignment?”

“It is not, sir.”

“Perhaps those are not the signatures of the witnesses,”
said Mr. Cavendish, with an angry sneer.

“Two of them, I have no doubt, are forgeries,” responded
Mr. Balfour, with an excited voice.

Mr. Cavendish knew that it would do no good to manifest anger;
so he laughed. Then he sat down by the side of Mr. Belcher,
and said something to him, and they both laughed together.

“That's all,” he said, nodding to the witness.

“May it please the Court,” said Mr. Balfour, “we got
along so well with the question of identity that, with the
leave of the defendant's counsel, I propose, in order to save
the time of the Court, that we push our inquiries directly into
the validity of this assignment. This is the essential question,
and the defendant has only to establish the validity of
the instrument to bring the case to an end at once. This
done, the suit will be abandoned.”

“Certainly,” said Mr. Cavendish, rising. “I agree to the
scheme with the single provision on behalf of the defendant,
that he shall not be debarred from his pleading of a denial of
profits, in any event.”

“Agreed,” said Mr. Balfour.

“Very well,” said Mr. Cavendish. “I shall call Cornelius
Phipps, the only surviving witness of the assignment.”

But Cornelius Phipps did not appear when he was called.
A second call produced the same result. He was not in the
house. He was sought for in every possible retreat about the
house, but could not be found. Cornelius Phipps had mysteriously
disappeared.

After consulting Mr. Belcher, Mr. Cavendish announced
that the witness who had been called was essential at the present

stage of the case. He thought it possible that in the
long confinement of the court-room, Phipps had become suddenly
ill, and gone home. He hoped, for the honor of the
plaintiff in the case, that nothing worse had happened, and
suggested that the Court adjourn until the following day.

And the Court adjourned, amid tumultuous whispering.
Mr. Belcher was apparently oblivious of the fact, and sat and
stared, until touched upon the shoulder by his counsel, when
he rose and walked out upon a world and into an atmosphere
that had never before seemed so strange and unreal.