University of Virginia Library

27. CHAPTER XXVII.
IN WHICH PHIPPS IS NOT TO BE FOUND, AND THE GENERAL IS
CALLED UPON TO DO HIS OWN LYING.

At the appointed hour on the following morning, the Court
resumed its session. The plaintiff and defendant were both
in their places, with their counsel, and the witnesses of the
previous day were all in attendance. Among the little group
of witnesses there were two or three new faces—a professional-looking
gentleman with spectacles; a thin-faced, carefully-dressed,
slender man, with a lordly air, and the bearing of
one who carried the world upon his shoulders and did not
regard it as much of a burden; and, last, our old friend Sam
Yates.

There was an appearance of perplexity and gloom on the
countenances of Mr. Cavendish and his client. They were
in serious conversation, and it was evident that they were in
difficulty. Those who knew the occasion of the abrupt adjournment
of the Court on the previous day looked in vain
among the witnesses for the face of Phipps. He was not in
the room, and, while few suspected the real state of the case,
all understood how essential he was to the defendant, in his
attempt to establish the genuineness of the assignment.

At the opening of the Court, Mr. Cavendish rose to speak.
His bold, sharp manner had disappeared. The instrument
which he had expected to use had slipped hopelessly out of his
hand. He was impotent. “May it please the Court,” he
said, “the defendant in this case finds himself in a very embarrassing
position this morning. It was known yesterday
that Cornelius Phipps, the only surviving witness of the assignment,

mysteriously disappeared at the moment when his testimony
was wanted. Why and how he disappeared, I cannot
tell. He has not yet been found. All due diligence has
been exercised to discover him, but without success. I make
no charges of foul play, but it is impossible for me, knowing
what I know about him—his irreproachable character, his
faithfulness to my client, and his perfect memory of every
event connected with the execution of the paper in question—
to avoid the suspicion that he is by some means, and against
his will, detained from appearing here this morning. I confess,
sir, that I was not prepared for this. It is hard to believe
that the plaintiff could adopt a measure so desperate as
this for securing his ends, and I will not criminate him; but I
protest that the condition in which the defendant is left by
this defection, or this forcible detention—call it what you
will—demands the most generous consideration, and compels
me to ask the Court for suggestions as to the best course of
proceeding. There are now but two men in Court who saw
the paper executed, namely, the assignor and the assignee.
The former has declared, with an effrontery which I have
never seen equalled, that he never signed the document which
so unmistakably bears his signature, and that the names of
two of the witnesses are forgeries. I do not expect that, in a
struggle like this, the testimony of the latter will be accepted,
and I shall not stoop to ask it.”

Mr. Cavendish hesitated, looked appealingly at the Judge,
and then slowly took his seat, when Mr. Balfour, without
waiting for any suggestions from the Court, rose and said:

“I appreciate the embarrassment of the defense, and am
quite willing to do all I can to relieve it. His insinuations
of foul dealing toward his witness are absurd, of course, and,
to save any further trouble, I am willing to receive as a witness,
in place of Mr. Phipps, Mr. Belcher himself, and to
pledge myself to abide by what he establishes. I can do no
more than this, I am sure, and now I challenge him to take
the stand.”

The Judge watched the defendant and his counsel in their
whispered consultation for a few minutes, and then said: “It
seems to the Court that the defense can reasonably ask for
nothing more than this.”

Mr. Belcher hesitated. He had not anticipated this turn
of the case. There appeared to be no alternative, however,
and, at last, he rose with a very red face, and walked to the
witness-stand, placing himself just where Mr. Balfour wanted
him—in a position to be cross-examined.

It is useless to rehearse here the story which had been prepared
for Phipps, and for which Phipps had been prepared.
Mr. Belcher swore to all the signatures to the assignment, as
having been executed in his presence, on the day corresponding
with the date of the paper. He was permitted to enlarge
upon all the circumstances of the occasion, and to surround
the execution of the assignment with the most ingenious plausibilities.
He told his story with a fine show of candor, and
with great directness and clearness, and undoubtedly made a
profound impression upon the Court and the jury. Then Mr.
Cavendish passed him into the hands of Mr. Balfour.

“Well, Mr. Belcher, you have told us a very straight story,
but there are a few little matters which I would like to have
explained,” said Mr. Balfour. “Why, for instance, was your
assignment placed on record only a few months ago?”

“Because I was not a lawyer, sir,” replied Mr. Belcher,
delighted that the first answer was so easy and so plausible.
“I was not aware that it was necessary, until so informed by
Mr. Cavendish.”

“Was Mr. Benedict's insanity considered hopeless from the
first?”

“No,” replied Mr. Belcher, cheerfully; “we were quite
hopeful that we should bring him out of it.”

“He had lucid intervals, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was that the reason why, the next day after the alleged
assignment, you wrote him a letter, urging him to make the

assignment, and offering him a royalty for the use of his
patents?”

“I never wrote any such letter, sir. I never sent him any
such letter, sir.”

“You sent him to the asylum, did you?”

“I co-operated with others, sir, and paid the bills,” said
Mr. Belcher, with emphasis.

“Did you ever visit the asylum when he was there?”

“I did, sir.”

“Did you apply to the superintendent for liberty to secure
his signature to a paper?”

“I do not remember that I did. It would have been an
unnatural thing for me to do. If I did, it was a paper on
some subordinate affair. It was some years ago, and the details
of the visit did not impress themselves upon my memory.”

“How did you obtain the letters of Nicholas Johnson and
James Ramsey? I ask this, because they are not addressed
to you.”

“I procured them of Sam Yates, in anticipation of the trial
now in progress here. The witnesses were dead, and I
thought they would help me in establishing the genuineness
of their signatures.”

“What reason had you to anticipate this trial?”

“Well, sir, I am accustomed to providing for all contingencies.
That is the way I was made, sir. It seemed to
me quite probable that Benedict, if living, would forget what
he had done before his insanity, and that, if he were dead,
some friend of his boy would engage in the suit on his behalf.
I procured the autographs after I saw his boy in your hands,
sir.”

“So you had not seen these particular signatures at the
time when the alleged assignment was made.”

“No, sir, I had not seen them.”

“And you simply procured them to use as a defense in a
suit which seemed probable, or possible, and which now,
indeed, is in progress of trial?”

“That is about as clear a statement of the fact as I can
make, sir;” and Mr. Belcher bowed and smiled.

“I suppose, Mr. Belcher,” said Mr. Balfour, “that it
seems very strange to you that the plaintiff should have forgotten
his signature.”

“Not at all, sir. On the contrary, I regard it as the most
natural thing in the world. I should suppose that a man who
had lost his mind once would naturally lose his memory of
many things.”

“That certainly seems reasonable, but how is it that he
does not recognize it, even if he does not remember the
writing of it?”

“I don't know; a man's signature changes with changing
habits, I suppose,” responded the witness.

“You don't suppose that any genuine signature of yours
could pass under your eye undetected, do you?” inquired
Mr. Balfour.

“No, sir, I don't. I'll be frank with you, sir.”

“Well, now, I'm going to test you. Perhaps other men,
who have always been sane, do sometimes forget their own
signatures.”

Mr. Balfour withdrew from his papers a note. Mr. Belcher
saw it in the distance, and made up his mind that it was
the note he had written to the lawyer before the beginning of
the suit. The latter folded over the signature so that it might
be shown to the witness, independent of the body of the letter,
and then he stepped to him holding it in his hand, and
asked him to declare it either a genuine signature or a forgery.

“That's my sign manual, sir.”

“You are sure?”

“I know it, sir.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Balfour, handing the letter to the
clerk to be marked. “You are right, I have no doubt, and
I believe this is all I want of you, for the present.”

“And now, may it please the Court,” said Mr. Balfour,
“I have some testimony to present in rebuttal of that of the

defendant. I propose, practically, to finish up this case with
it, and to show that the story to which you have listened is
false in every particular.

First, I wish to present the testimony of Dr. Charles Barhydt.”
At the pronunciation of his name, the man in spectacles
arose, and advanced to the witness-stand.

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

“Charles Barhydt.”

“What is your profession?”

“I am a physician.”

“You have an official position, I believe.”

“Yes, sir; I have for fifteen years been the superintendent
of the State Asylum for the insane.”

“Do you recognize the plaintiff in this case, as a former
patient in the asylum?”

“I do, sir.”

“Was he ever visited by the defendant while in your
care?”

“He was, sir.”

“Did the defendant endeavor to procure his signature to
any document while he was in the asylum?”

“He did, sir.”

“Did he apply to you for permission to get this signature,
and did he importunately urge you to give him this permission?”

“He did, sir.”

“Did you read this document?”

“I did, sir.”

“Do you remember what it was?”

“Perfectly, in a general way. It was an assignment of a
number of patent rights and sundry machines, implements
and processes.”

Mr. Balfour handed to the witness the assignment, and then
said: “Be kind enough to look that through, and tell us
whether you ever saw it before.”

After reading the document through, the Doctor said:

“This is the identical paper which Mr. Belcher showed me,
or a very close copy of it. Several of the patents named here
I remember distinctly, for I read the paper carefully, with a
professional purpose. I was curious to know what had been
the mental habits of my patient.”

“But you did not give the defendant liberty to procure the
signature of the patentee?”

“I did not. I refused to do so on the ground that he was
not of sound mind—that he was not a responsible person.”

“When was this?”

“I have no record of the date, but it was after the 12th of
May, 1860—the date of Mr. Benedict's admission to the
asylum.”

“That is all,” said Mr. Balfour. Mr. Cavendish tried to
cross-examine, but without any result, except to emphasize
the direct testimony, though he tried persistently to make the
witness remember that, while Mr. Belcher might have shown
him the assignment, and that he read it for the purpose which
he had stated, it was another paper to which he had wished
to secure the patient's signature.

Samuel Yates was next called.

“You are a member of our profession, I believe,” said Mr.
Balfour.

“I am, sir.”

“Have you ever been in the service of the defendant in this
case?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What have you done for him?”

“I worked many months in the endeavor to ascertain
whether Paul Benedict was living or dead.”

“It isn't essential that we should go into that; and as the
defendant has testified that he procured the autograph letters
which are in the possession of the Court from you, I presume
you will corroborate his testimony.”

“He did procure them of me, sir.”

“Did he inform you of the purpose to which he wished to
put them?”

“He did, sir. He said that he wished to verify some signatures.”

“Were you ever employed in his library at Sevenoaks, by
his agent?”

“Yes, sir, I wrote there for several weeks.”

“May it please the Court, I have a letter in my hand,
the genuineness of whose signature has been recognized by
the defendant, written by Robert Belcher to Paul Benedict,
which, as it has a direct bearing upon the case, I beg the
privilege of placing in evidence. It was written the next day
after the date of the alleged assignment, and came inclosed
from Benedict's hands to mine.”

Mr. Belcher evidently recalled the letter, for he sat
limp in his chair, like a man stunned. A fierce quarrel then
arose between the counsel concerning the admission of the
letter. The Judge examined it, and said that he could see no
reason why it should not be admitted. Then Mr. Balfour
read the following note:

“Mr. Yates,” said Mr. Balfour, “have you ever seen this
letter before?”

Yates took the letter, looked it over, and then said: “I
have, sir. I found the letter in a drawer of the library-table,
in Mr. Belcher's house at Sevenoaks. I delivered it unopened
to the man to whom it was addressed, leaving him to decide

the question as to whether it belonged to him or the writer.
I had no idea of its contents at the time, but became acquainted
with them afterwards, for I was present at the opening
of the letter.”

“That is all,” said Mr. Balfour.

“So you stole this letter, did you?” inquired Mr. Cavendish.

“I found it while in Mr. Belcher's service, and took it personally
to the man to whom it was addressed, as he apparently
had the best right to it. I am quite willing to return it to the
writer, if it is decided that it belongs to him. I had no selfish
end to serve in the affair.”

Here the Judge interposed. “The Court,” said he, “finds
this letter in the hands of the plaintiff, delivered by a man
who at the time was in the employ of the defendant, and had
the contents of the room in his keeping. The paper has a
direct bearing on the case, and the Court will not go back of
the facts stated.”

Mr. Cavendish sat down and consulted his client. Mr.
Belcher was afraid of Yates. The witness not only knew too
much concerning his original intentions, but he was a lawyer
who, if questioned too closely and saucily, would certainly
manage to bring in facts to his disadvantage. Yates had
already damaged him sadly, and Mr. Belcher felt that it would
not do to provoke a re-direct examination. So, after a whispered
colloquy with his counsel, the latter told the witness
that he was done with him. Then Mr. Belcher and his counsel
conversed again for some time, when Mr. Balfour rose and
said, addressing the Court:

“The defendant and his client evidently need time for
consultation, and, as there is a little preliminary work to be
done before I present another witness, I suggest that the
Court take a recess of an hour. In the meantime, I wish to
secure photographic copies of the signatures of the two autograph
letters, and of the four signatures of the assignment.
I ask the Court to place these documents in the keeping of

an officer, to be used for this purpose, in an adjoining room,
where I have caused a photographic apparatus to be placed,
and where a skillful operator is now in waiting. I ask this
privilege, as it is essential to a perfect demonstration of the
character of the document on which the decision of this case
must turn.”

The Judge acceded to Mr. Balfour's request, both in regard
to the recess and the use of the paper, and the assembly
broke up into little knots of earnest talkers, most of whom
manifested no desire to leave the building.

Mr. Cavendish approached Mr. Balfour, and asked for a
private interview. When they had retired to a lobby, he
said: “You are not to take any advantage of this conversation.
I wish to talk in confidence.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Balfour.

“My client,” said Cavendish, “is in a devilish bad
box. His principal witness has run away, his old friends all
turn against him, and circumstantial evidence doesn't befriend
him. I have advised him to stop this suit right here, and
make a compromise. No one wants to kill the General. He's
a sharp man, but he is good-natured, and a useful citizen.
He can handle these patents better than Benedict can, and
make money enough for both of them. What could Benedict
do if he had the patents in his hands? He's a simpleton.
He's a nobody. Any man capable of carrying on his business
would cheat him out of his eye-teeth.”

“I am carrying on his business, myself, just at this time,”
remarked Mr. Balfour, seriously.

“That's all right, of course; but you know that you and I
can settle this business better for these men than they can
settle it for themselves.”

“I'll be frank with you,” said Mr. Balfour. “I am not
one who regards Robert Belcher as a good-natured man
and a useful citizen, and I, for one—to use your own phrase—
want to kill him. He has preyed upon the public for ten
years, and I owe a duty not only to my client but to society.

I understand how good a bargain I could make with him at
this point, but I will make no bargain with him. He is an
unmitigated scoundrel, and he will only go out of this Court
to be arrested for crime; and I do not expect to drop him
until I drop him into a Penitentiary, where he can reflect upon
his forgeries at leisure.”

“Then you refuse any sort of a compromise.”

“My dear sir,” said Mr. Balfour, warmly, “do you suppose
I can give a man a right to talk of terms who is in my
hands? Do you suppose I can compromise with crime? You
know I can't.”

“Very well—let it go. I suppose I must go through with
it. You understand that this conversation is confidential.”

“I do: and you?”

“Oh, certainly!”