“That,” said Mr. Rolland, “proves conclusively that the witness in question has committed wilful and corrupt perjury, inasmuch as that he was in England a month before he stated in his evidence.” Every eye in Court was riveted on Victor Fensden, whose face turned as pale as the paper upon which I am writing. “I shall now call James Tidmarsh,” said Mr. Rolland, and in response to the summons a small boy climbed into the witness-box. His name, he stated, was James Tidmarsh, and he called himself an errand boy, though as a rule he spent his time hanging about the vicinity of Euston Station. He remembered distinctly on the night of Friday, the 16th, meeting a gentleman about eight o’clock outside the station who carried a small wooden box in his hand. That gentleman stopped him and asked him if he would care to earn half a sovereign. Upon his eagerly answering in the affirmative, the stranger gave him the box in question with the sum of fifteen shillings. “Take it to the station,” he said, “and hand it in at the parcel-office to be despatched to the address written on the label. It won’t cost more than a couple of shillings or half-a-crown, and you can keep the change for yourself. I’ll wait here until you return to tell me it’s all right.” The boy then declared that he started off, handed the box in at the parcel-office and paid the money. In taking the money the clerk had _sauced_ him and he had retaliated to the best of his ability. The result was that the policeman on the platform gave him a good shaking and turned him out of the building. He informed the gentleman that he had sent the parcel off, and he had not seen him since that moment until he came into Court and had heard the witness Fensden give his evidence. He, the witness to whom he alluded, was, without a shadow of doubt, the gentleman who had handed him the box to send to Detwich Hall. The excitement in Court by this time may be better imagined than described. The colour of Fensden’s face was a dirty gray, and he seemed to gasp for breath. The counsel for the prosecution seemed uneasy, and even the judge leaned farther forward than usual, as if he were afraid of losing a word of what was said. The clerk in the parcel-office was next called, and stated that he remembered the incident in question. The box was a foreign one, and as he had placed it on the floor he had remarked, “Another made in Germany.” The policeman who had turned the boy out of the station followed him. He had seen the boy deposit a small box upon the counter and heard him say something cheeky to the clerk. He thereupon bundled him out of the station. When this witness had finished his tale Mr. Rolland said: “Call Jacob Burrell.”