In fiction this gentleman would have appeared in the melodramatic guise of a spangled tunic, sugar-loaf hat, with party-coloured ribbons, purple or green breeches, and motley hose; but in the witness-box he was in clerical uniform, a long coat and white cravat with corresponding long face and hair, especially at the back of his head.  A soberer style of a stage bandit was never seen.  He was just the man for cross-examination, I saw at a glance—­a fancy witness, and, I believe, a Welshman.  As he was a Christian warrior, I had to find out the weak places in his armour.  But little he knew of courts of law and the penetrating art of cross-examination, which could make a hole in the triple-plated coat of fraud, hypocrisy, and cunning.  I was in no such panoply.  I fought only with my little pebblestone and sling, but took good aim, and then the missile flew with well-directed speed.

I had to throw at a venture at first, because, happily, there were no instructions how to cross-examine.  Not that I should have followed them if there had been; but I might have got a fact or two from them.

It is well known that artifice is the resource of cunning, whether it acts on the principle of concealing truth or boldly asserting falsehood.  Here the reverend strategist did both:  he knew how a little truth could deceive.  You must remember that at this point of the case, when the Rev. Faker was called, there was nothing to cross-examine about.  I knew nothing of the parties, the witnesses, the solicitors, or any one except my learned friends.  It would not have been discreditable to my advocacy if I had submitted to a verdict.  I will, therefore, give the points of the questions which elicited the truth from the Christian warrior; and probably the non-legal reader of these memoirs may be interested in seeing what may sometimes be done by a few judicious questions.

“Mr. Faker,” I said.

“Sir,” says Faker.

“You have told us you acted as the adviser of the testatrix.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Spiritual adviser, of course?”

A spiritual bow.

“You advised the deceased lady, probably, as to her duties as a dying woman?”

“Certainly.”

“Duty to her husband—­was that one?”

A slight hesitation in Mr. Faker revealed the vast amount of fraud of which he was capable.  It was the smallest peephole, but I saw a good way.  Till then there was nothing to cross-examine about, but after that hesitation there was L100,000 worth!  He had betrayed himself.  At last Faker said,—­

“Yes, Mr. Hawkins; yes, sir—­her duty to her husband.”

“In the way of providing for him?” was my next question.

“Oh yes; quite so.”

“You were careful, of course, as you told your learned counsel, to avoid any undue influence?”

“Certainly.”

“The will was not completed, I think, when you first saw the dying woman—­on the day, I mean, of her death?”