ve never injured have tried to put a
rope round my neck more than once. I hate society in general, and one
or two individuals in particular. The man who did that murder in Dunedin
has, if anything, my sympathy, but it seems to me he need not have
killed that child." His companion was about to speak. Butler stopped
him. "Now, don't ever ask me such a silly question as that," he said.
"What?" asked his friend. "You were about to ask me if I did that deed,"
replied Butler, "and you know perfectly well that, guilty or innocent,
that question would only be answered in one way." "I was about to ask
nothing of the kind," said the other, "for you have already told me that
you were innocent." "Good!" said Butler, "then let that be the end of
the subject, and never refer to it again, except, perhaps, in your own
mind, when you can, if you like, remember that I said the killing of the
child was unnecessary and cruel."

Having developed to the jury his theory of why the crime was committed,
Butler told them that, as far as he was concerned, there were four
points against him on which the Crown relied to prove his guilt.
Firstly, there was the fact of his being in the neighbourhood of the
crime on the Sunday morning; that, he said, applied to scores of other
people besides himself. Then there was his alleged disturbed appearance
and guilty demeanour. The evidence of that was, he contended, doubtful
in any case, and referable to another cause; as also his leaving Dunedin
in the way and at the time he did. He scouted the idea that murderers
are compelled by some invisible force to betray their guilt. "The doings
of men," he urged, "and their success are regulated by the amount
of judgment that they possess, and, without impugning or denying the
existence of Providence, I say this is a law that holds good in all
cases, whether for evil or good. Murderers, if they have the sense and
ability and discretion to cover up their crime, will escape, do escape,
and have escaped. Many people, when they have gravely shaken their heads
and said 'Murder will out,' consider they have done a great deal and
gone a long way towards settling the question. Well, this, like many
other stock formulas of Old World wisdom, is not true. How many murders
are there that the world has never heard of, and never will? How many a
murdered man, for instance, lies among the gum-trees of Victoria, or
in the old abandoned mining-shafts on the diggings, who is missed by