New Evidence

The principal King’s Bench corridor in the Law Courts, like the other main corridors, is a place of strange meetings and interviews.  A man may receive there a bit of news that will change the whole of the rest of his life, or he may receive only an invitation to a mediocre lunch in the restaurant underneath; he never knows beforehand.  Priam assuredly did not receive an invitation to lunch.  He was traversing the crowded thoroughfares—­for with the exception of match and toothpick sellers the corridor has the characteristics of a Strand pavement in the forenoon—­ when he caught sight of Mr. Oxford talking to a woman.  Now, he had exchanged no word with Mr. Oxford since the historic scene in the club, and he was determined to exchange no word; however, they had not gone through the formality of an open breach.  The most prudent thing to do, therefore, was to turn and take another corridor.  And Priam would have fled, being capable of astonishing prudence when prudence meant the avoidance of unpleasant encounters; but, just as he was turning, the woman in conversation with Mr. Oxford saw him, and stepped towards him with the rapidity of thought, holding forth her hand.  She was tall, thin, and stiffly distinguished in the brusque, Dutch-doll motions of her limbs.  Her coat and skirt were quite presentable; but her feet were large (not her fault, of course, though one is apt to treat large feet as a crime), and her feathered hat was even larger.  She hid her age behind a veil.

“How do you do, Mr. Farll?” she addressed him firmly, in a voice which nevertheless throbbed.

It was Lady Sophia Entwistle.

“How do you do?” he said, taking her offered hand.

There was nothing else to do, and nothing else to say.

Then Mr. Oxford put out his hand.

“How do you do, Mr. Farll?”

And, taking Mr. Oxford’s hated hand, Priam said again, “How do you do?”

It was all just as if there had been no past; the past seemed to have been swallowed up in the ordinariness of the crowded corridor.  By all the rules for the guidance of human conduct, Lady Sophia ought to have denounced Priam with outstretched dramatic finger to the contempt of the world as a philanderer with the hearts of trusting women; and he ought to have kicked Mr. Oxford along the corridor for a scheming Hebrew.  But they merely shook hands and asked each other how they did, not even expecting an answer.  This shows to what extent the ancient qualities of the race have deteriorated.

Then a silence.

“I suppose you know, Mr. Farll,” said Lady Sophia, rather suddenly, “that I have got to give evidence in this case.”

“No,” he said, “I didn’t.”

“Yes, it seems they have scoured all over the Continent in vain to find people who knew you under your proper name, and who could identify you with certainty, and they couldn’t find one—­doubtless owing to your peculiar habits of travel.”