The Tale of Timber Town

“And which way did the prisoner take after leaving you?”

“He crossed over the ford, and went towards Canvas Town.”

“Thank you.” Then the counsel for the Crown turned to the Judge. “I have finished with the witness, Your Honour,” he said.

“But I have not finished,” cried Amiria, lifting her voice so that it rang through the Court. “There were others on the road that day.”

“Ah!” said the Judge. “I understand you desire to make a statement?”

“I desire to say that at the ford were four horrible-looking men.”

The Crown Prosecutor laughed. “Yes, yes,” he said. “You would tell the Court that there were others on the road besides yourself and the prisoner. What were the names of the men to whom you refer?”

“I don’t know. How should I know their names?”

Again the Crown Prosecutor laughed. But Scarlett’s counsel was on his feet in a moment.

“Would you recognise them, if you saw them again?” he asked.

“I think so,” answered the Maori girl.

“What should you say was their occupation?”

“I don’t know, but they looked much more like murderers than Mr. Scarlett did.”

“Look if you can see the men you speak of, in Court.”

The dark girl glanced at the sea of faces on the further side of the barrier.

“They may be here, but I can’t see them,” she said.

“Just so. But do you see any persons like them?”

“In dress, yes. In face, no.”

“Very good, don’t trouble yourself further. That will suffice.”

And Amiria was ushered from the Court.

“Call William Tomkin Tomkinson.”

The Bank Manager stood trembling in the box, all the timidity of his soul brought to the surface by the unusual situation in which he found himself.

“What quantity of gold do you suppose your agent, Mr. Zahn, was bringing to town when he was thus foully murdered?” asked the Crown Prosecutor.

“I really don’t know the exact amount, but I should imagine it was between £15,000 and £20,000.”

“You know the prisoner?”

“I have met him in the way of business?”

“What was the nature of his business?”

“He came to ask the Bank to send an agent to the field for the purpose of buying gold.”

“And you told him you would send one?”

“I called Mr. Zahn into my room. I told him he would be sent to the field, and I suggested that the prisoner should conduct him to Canvas Town.”

“Was that suggestion acted upon?”

“No. Scarlett was willing to comply, but Zahn refused his offer.”

“Why did he refuse?”

“He was frightened to trust himself with the prisoner.”

“This is very important, Mr. Tomkinson. I must ask you to repeat the murdered man’s exact words when he refused to accompany the prisoner to the field.”

“I do not recollect his exact words. As nearly as I can remember, he said that he would rather run the risk of getting lost in the bush than be thrown over a precipice.”

“Did you know they had quarrelled previously?”

“I learnt so, at the time to which I refer.”

“Thank you, sir. Your evidence has proved to be valuable, very valuable indeed. I shall ask the witness no more questions, Your Honour.”

Scarlett’s counsel was contemplatively tapping his front teeth with his forefinger throughout this examination. He now rose, and informed the Judge that though he desired to ask the witness no questions at the present time, perhaps he might ask for him and the witness Amiria to be recalled at a later stage of the proceedings.

The next witness was a digger, a short man with a bushy, red beard. But even more extraordinary than the man’s beard was his casual, almost insolent, bearing. He glanced at the Judge contemptuously, he looked pityingly at the jury, he regarded the barristers with dislike, and then he settled himself resignedly against the front of the witness-box, and fixed his eyes superciliously upon the Sergeant of Police.

“Are you the owner of a claim on Bush Robin Creek?”

“I am, and it’s a good claim too.” The witness evidently considered himself on familiar terms with the counsel for the Crown.

“Did you sell gold to Isaac Zahn?”

“I did, an’ he give me £3 15s. an ounce. The result of a month’s work, yer Honour.”

“How much did you sell?”

“Forty-six ounces fifteen pennyweights; but, bless yer, I’d on’y begun to scratch the top of the claim.”

The idea of the witness blessing the Crown Prosecutor convulsed the bar with merriment; but, looking straight at the witness, the Judge said, “I beg you to remember, sir, that you are in a Court of Law, and not in the bar of a public-house.” To which admonition the digger was understood, by those nearest to him, to murmur, “I on’y wish I were.”

“Was there anything unusual in the appearance of the gold that you sold to Zahn?”

“It was very ’eavy gold,” replied the witness, “an’ there was one nugget that ’e give me extry for, as a curio.”