‘You have heard that for some time past the relations between the late Richard Meadowes and his son have been somewhat strained; but you have also heard evidence to-day, that on the night of the 9th January they met with apparent good feeling on both sides, that Meadowes borrowed money of his father, and that they went out together, apparently on good terms. You have heard, gentlemen of the Jury, that Meadowes, when he went out, wore no shoes. The chain of evidence which we have heard after this is curiously complete. The watchman has told us that the murderer who ran down the street wore no shoes, and that the dying man called him “Philip” twice by name, begging him to run for his life. You have evidence that the murderer was discovered at his horrid task, at ten minutes before three of the clock, and that he ran in the direction of St. James’ Square. The time which it would take to go quickly between —— Street and St. James’ Square is about ten minutes. You have evidence that Meadowes came home at three of the clock. Gentlemen, I am very much puzzled in my thoughts, and am at a loss to find out what inducement there could be to draw Mr. Meadowes to commit such a horrid, barbarous murder. For though he hath not been on the best of terms with the late gentleman, his father, yet the supposed cause of their coolness—an imprudent marriage—is not a cause likely to lead to such tragic happenings as these. Nor can I see what Mr. Meadowes would gain by the crime, were it not his own undoing. But, against these considerations, you must weigh the extraordinary evidence which you have heard, and must judge whether it be a likely case that another man, known to Richard Meadowes as “Philip,” and wearing no shoes, should have committed this crime. I do not say more, gentlemen; there is little more to say; go and consider your evidence, and I pray God direct you in giving your verdict.’ The Jury were absent for a very short time. ‘Gentlemen, are you all agreed in your verdict?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Who shall say for you?’ ‘Foreman.’ ‘Philip Richard William Meadowes, hold up thy hand.’ Which he did. ‘Look upon the prisoner. How say you? Is he Guilty of the murder whereof he stands indicted, or Not guilty?’ ‘Guilty.’ Philip listened, incredulous. Then, as the truth forced itself in upon his mind, the injustice and cruelty of fate overcame him. In his wrath and bitterness he stood silent, then, with a sudden hard bitter little laugh, and a dramatic movement of his hand, he leant forward to speak. ‘My Lord,’ he said, ‘I am innocent of the blood of this just man.’ CHAPTER XXXIII