n
extent he was right, but on one point he had overshot himself, for at
that very inquest Mr. Fraser stated on oath that he (Mr. Fraser) had
spoken of Arthur Heigham's death in the presence of Sir John Bellamy,
and had not been contradicted.

In vain did Sir John protest that Mr. Fraser must be mistaken. Both
the jury and the public looked at the probabilities of the matter,
and, though his protestations were accepted in silence, when he left
the witness-box there was not a man in court but was morally certain
that he had been privy to the plot, and, so far as reputation was
concerned, he was a ruined man. And yet legally there was not a jot of
evidence against him. But public opinion required that a scapegoat
should be found, and it was now his lot to figure as that unlucky
animal.

By the time he reached the exit into the street, the impression that
he had had a hand in the business had, in some mysterious way,
communicated itself to the mob outside, many a member of which had
some old grudge to settle with "Lawyer Bellamy," if only chance put an
opportunity in their way. As he stepped through the door, utterly
ignorant of the greeting which awaited him, his ears were assailed by
an awful yell, followed by a storm of hoots and hisses.

Sir John turned pale, and looked for a means of escape; but the
policeman who had let him out had locked the door behind him, and all
round him was the angry mob.

"Here comes the ---- that started the swim," roared a voice, as soon
as there was a momentary lull.

"Gentlemen----" piped Sir John, with all the pippin hue gone from his
cheeks, and rubbing his white hands together nervously.

"Yah! he poisoned his own poor wife!" shouted a woman with a baby.

"Ladies----" went on Sir John, in agonized tones.

"Pelt him!" yelled a sweet little boy of ten or so, suiting the action
to the word, and planting a rotten egg full upon Sir John's imposing
brow.

"No, no," said the woman who had nicknamed Philip "Judas." "Why don't
you drop him in the pond? There's only two feet of water, and it's
soft falling on the mud. You can pelt him _afterwards_."

The idea was received with acclamation, and notwithstanding his own
efforts to the contrary, backed as they were by those of the five
policemen, before he knew where he was, Sir John found himself being
hustled by a lot of sturdy fellows towards the filthy duck-pond, like
an aristocrat to the guillotine. They soon arrived, and then follo