“I wish to make public recognition,” he said, “of the fairness and ability with which the case was conducted on both sides.  The prosecution, as it was their duty to do, forged the chain of evidence against Mr. Assheton as strongly as they were able, and pieced together incriminating circumstances against him with a skill that at first seemed conclusive of his guilt.  The first thing that occurred to make a weak link in their chain was the acknowledgment of a certain witness that the stick with which the murder was supposed to have been committed was not left on the spot by the accused, but by himself.  Why he admitted that we can only conjecture, but my conjecture is that it was an act of repentance and contrition on his part.  When it came to that point he could not let the evidence which he had himself supplied tell against him on whom it was clearly his object to father the crime.  You will remember also that certain circumstances pointed to robbery being the motive of the crime.  That I think was the first idea, so to speak of the real criminal.  Then, we must suppose, he saw himself safer, if he forged against another certain evidence which we have heard.”

The judge paused for a moment, and then went on with evident emotion.

“This case will never be reopened again,” he said, “for a reason that I will subsequently tell the court; we have seen the last of this tragedy, and retribution and punishment are in the hands of a higher and supreme tribunal.  This witness, Mr. Edward Taynton—­has been for years a friend of mine, and the sympathy which I felt for him at the opening of the case, when a young man, to whom I still believe him to have been attached, was on his trial, is changed to a deeper pity.  During the afternoon you have heard certain evidence, from which you no doubt as well as I infer that the fact of this murder having been committed was known to the man who wrote a letter and blotted it on the sheet which has been before the court.  That man also, as it was clear to us an hour ago, directed a certain envelope which you have also seen.  I may add that Mr. Taynton had, as I knew, an extraordinary knack of imitating handwritings; I have seen him write a signature that I could have sworn was mine.  But he has used that gift for tragic purposes.

“I have just received a telegram.  He left this court before the luncheon interval, and went to his house in Brighton.  Arrived there, as I have just learned, he poisoned himself.  And may God have mercy on his soul.”

Again he paused.

“The case therefore is closed,” he said, “and the court will rise for the day.  You will please go out in silence.”