perfect. Nothing could be clearer than his
narrative of the ride with the prisoner from
Nottingham to Pentridge; nothing more
exact than his recollection of the precise
minute at which each incident of the journey
took place. He detailed with studied accuracy
what passed at the White Horse; what
happened at Butterley; how the farm
servant was murdered at Topham's Close, the
prisoner being present; how he himself was
captured by a horse soldier; how the prisoner
at the bar was arrested in Arch Lane; and
how himself was ultimately released on turning
approver.

The heavy despairing look which Marsden
constantly cast towards the door, left him
when he began to cross-examine Mr. Knolliver.
The legal mind lighted up at the
prospect of reducing this burly witness to the
smallest dimensions. It delighted to extract
confessions of his various disguises and aliases;
of having taken the name of Nobble, and the
character of an Eastern Delegate; of having
spoken frequently at seditious meetings; of
having also made himself known, on the
road, as Squire Bumption, a visiting justice
of twenty years' standing.—What was his
profession? Nothing particular.—Was he
in the pay of government? No.—Had he
ever been in the pay of the government?
Never—that is, no more than a councillor
might be, when he received a government
fee.—Had he ever worn a red waistcoat?
Perhaps he had, when it was the fashion
to wear red waistcoats.—But are not red
waistcoats rigidly the fashion among Bow
Street officers? He believed they were.—
In one word, sir, are you not a paid government
spy?

The Other Side interfered. The question
was in outrageous excess of forensic licence;
and the Court concurred. Marsden bowed
and resumed—

"Now, sir, on the word of a man who may,
or may not be a government spy, was
the horseman, with whom you parted
before you entered Alfretou, and the horseman
whom you overtook after having
passed through Alfreton, one and the same
person?"

"He was."

"Take care, sir! You swear that ?"

"I swear it, if it was the last words I have
to speak."

Re-examined by Serjeant Moss: "Is
that man the prisoner at the bar ?"

Witness: "He is."

The prisoner uttered an involuntary
expression of assent; and his counsel, seeing
that it had been noted by the jury, occupied
himself while one of the judges asked Mr.
Knolliver a few questions, in writing on a
scrap of paper which he handed to the
prisoner, these words;—" If you do not leave
your case entirely in my hands, I will throw
up my brief."

Dornley's answer pencilled on the same
paper was: " I will not be defended by means
of a lie."

Mr. Marsden tore the memorandum up,
and said partly to himself and partly to
the young coadjutor who was taking notes
for him, " I can put a stop to this, and I
will." He then examined the witness relative
to the letter he had received at the bar of the
Royal George; but no sort of tortuous
interrogating could extract from him the writer's
name. The court ruled that he was not bound
to reveal it. Then came a perfect rack of
questions about the letter sent in to the
prisoner from the Green Boar. Had not the
prisoner gone from the Royal George to that
Inn ? He had, to see a friend.—Had he
not written a letter there ? He had, to his
wife.—In short, was not the letter which
enticed the prisoner to the Pentridge meeting
written to himself? " I decline to answer that
question."

The prisoner had relapsed into his old
abstraction; but Mr. Marsden roused him from
it during the change of witnesses, by handing
him the letter that had been directed to Mr.
Nobble, and which Vollum, got possession
of at his preliminary examination of both
prisoners' personal effects, and had never given
up. He wrote on the back of it, " Here
is the letter. Shall I call witnesses to prove
the hand-writing?"

George Dornley read these words, and
saw that the letter, to which alone he owed
his present position, was in the handwriting
of his own brother! He trembled from head
to foot, and pressed his hand over his eyes as
if to hide from himself the hideous revelation
now unexpectedly made. His agitation was
so manifest that one of the judges ordered
him the indulgence of a chair.  For some
time he seemed to take no more part
whatever in the trial.

The witness then in the box was the
landlord of the Fox, at Alfreton. He
swore that a gentleman came past his house
on horseback and asked about a groom.
Serjeant Moss's junior (a gentleman about
sixty, named Baldy) worked very hard at this
last question; but the witness had never
seen a groom; nobody, as he had heard of,
had seen a groom at Alfreton, about nine
o'clock at night, on the ninth of June.

This was the weak point—perhaps the only
weak point—of the prosecution; for it had
failed, after spending hundreds of pounds, to
find the servant with whom the prisoner
had changed coats and horses. It failed,
because none of its myrmidons had thought
of seeking a soldier instead of a groom. If
they had, they need have gone no further than
Nottingham barracks; where, by looking up
C troop of the Twelfth Hussars, they would
have found Thomas Hockle under the rank
and title of Lance-Coporal Haimes. Disgusted
with the world, he had enlisted on the day
after his master's incarceration.

Examination continued: Could not swear