CHAPTER III.

In spite of my promise, made at the outset, to avoid legal "shop," a few incidents from the lighter side of Court life may perhaps be excused. It must be remembered that most of the events related took place in small Mufassal Courts, where, although cases are conducted with all order and decency, yet a greater latitude is allowed to both sides than would be tolerated in a High Court, and further in such places counsel must often step across and ask the prisoner for information if he finds him intelligent, as the local pleaders may be worse than useless. With these words of apologetic explanation I proceed to spin my yarns.

"THE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE."

"6 Oh, coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!" Richard III., Act v., Scene 2.

An amusing incident happened to me some years ago, whilst defending a rich Zemindar, implicated with five or six others (for whom I did not appear) in a charge of murder.

The evidence against my client was of the weakest, except for the confession of a coaccused, which certainly made it appear that my client was the fons et origo mali.

Such a piece of evidence could not be dealt with lightly, and, to make matters worse, the Sessions Judge, before whom the case came for trial, was notoriously of the hanging order. In the thirty-seven cases which had preceded the trial I am speaking of he had convicted thirty-six times!

The accused men stood side by side at the back of the Court, and accidentally my client was next to the man whose evidence told so strongly against him.

Having need of some information, I left my seat and went over to the dock.

My client told me what I wanted, but as I was turning away he said in a somewhat trembling voice

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Alas, Sahib, things look bad. Shall I ever again be restored to my children?"

The grief of the old man, contrasting as it did with the smug satisfaction painted on the Judas' face beside him, fairly angered me, and I said to him, not without several strong words in Hindustani

"Be calm, the justice of the Sirkar will not fail you, but you will yet see that son of a dog beside you swinging high in the air."

I regained my seat, and the trial proceeded. About five minutes later a wild, unearthly yell arose from the dock

"Boo-hoo! boo-hoo-00-00-00!" ad infini

tum.

The Judge scowled, the Court officials shrieked "Chupraho " till they were hoarse.

Looking round to see the cause of all this hubbub, I discovered that it came from my friend Judas, who, with both hands raised to heaven, was vociferating

"I don't want to be hung! I don't want to be hung! I'll tell the truth if you won't hang me!"

The Judge, in a most tremendous rage, ordered two constables to bundle him out of Court, whereupon I intervened and suggested to his Honour that what we were now hearing must be the voice of conscience.

The next ten minutes were spent in a somewhat unpleasant wrangle, but I gained my point, and Judas was brought forward and asked what he wanted, and why he was howling.

His reply was somewhat startling —

"I never saw the murder committed. I am quite innocent, but that policeman there promised to get me ten rupees if I gave evidence in this case. He taught me word

by word, and letter by letter. And now

why should I be hanged? Boo-hoo! boohoo!"

His agonizing howls again rose loud and clear.

It was delicious to see the Judge quieting and comforting the miserable wretch.

Of course my client was acquitted, and the evidence of the victim of conscience brought several police officers to well-merited punishment.

The following story is a somewhat striking illustration of how little reliance can be placed in India upon evidence of identification.

In a village near Futehghur lived a wealthy old Thakur, who had an only son.

This young fellow had for some time been carrying on an intrigue with the wife of a Brahmin, and consequently one fine morning, when the husband disappeared, suspicion fastened upon the Lovelace, and when a few days later a corpse was found which the guilty lady herself declared to be that of her