Public sympathy was entirely with the accused, yet the verdict pronounced—that of Guilty—was generally expected. The evidence put forward by the prosecutor was so conclusive. There was not much chance for the prisoner when two witnesses swore that he (Edward Fraser) had said in their hearing that he would do the deceased (Sydney Marshall) some deadly harm, and when three more individuals were placed in the box to prove that they beheld the struggle between the two men, and saw the person in custody push his opponent over the cliffs into the water. Much disappointment was, however, felt throughout the country when the grand jury scheduled the crime as murder instead of manslaughter. But this decision was quite of a piece with Fraser's other misfortunes. Marshall's body had not been recovered, notwithstanding a very diligent search, and the local fishermen thought that it had been carried out to sea by the under-current. Still no one doubted that the man had perished. Although he richly deserved his fate, that was no justification of the deed in the eye of the law. Provocation beyond human endurance does not, as poor Fraser found out, permit a man to be a law unto himself. The husband may have his home broken up, his future career destroyed, his wife dishonoured—as in the case of this man—but he is prohibited from laying violent hands on the seducer.

The judge in sentencing the prisoner to be hanged, said that the recommendation of the jury (to mercy) would be forwarded to the proper quarter, but that he could not hold out much hope of a reprieve. It so happened that a number of capital sentences had been commuted about this time, and the Government deemed it necessary, as murders were on the increase, to make an example. Whichever way it turned, fortune was decidedly adverse to Fraser. He was not only unlucky in having a treacherous friend and an unchaste wife, but he must needs seek his revenge at an inopportune moment.

The jury's message of mercy was duly sent to the Home Office, and there soon followed it a great many petitions to the same effect, signed by thousands of all grades of society, from the bishop to the bricklayer. The prisoner was no hardened criminal, and the fatal blow, or push, or whatever it was, was given in defence of his household goods. Before deciding on the question of life or death, the Home Secretary consulted the judge, and communicated, as usual, with Scotland Yard. He required full particulars of the antecedents of the two men, and wished to know if it was within the range of possibility for Sydney Marshall to have escaped with his life.

"The press has not left us much to discover," remarked the chief, as he handed me the letter from the Home Office. "This is Tuesday; the answer must go on Friday. See if you can throw any new light on the subject."

It may be as well to state here that every care is taken that these revelations will not injure living individuals. When it is considered desirable, names of persons and places are more or less changed, but otherwise the eventful episodes are real, and the author only writes about matters in which he was personally concerned in his official capacity:

In search of information for the Home Secretary, I had an interview with the prisoner at Lewes Gaol (the murder was committed near Brighton), and saw all the relatives and acquaintances of the two men in London, and the following is what I learned:—

Edward Fraser and Sydney Marshall had been intimate friends. They first got to know each other through Miss Evans, who became the wife of Fraser, and afterwards ran away with Marshall. This frail but pretty young woman was the daughter of a draper at Kensington. "More beauty than wit," was how an old lady described her. She was, however, wise enough to give her hand to the more eligible of her two suitors. Marshall was a clerk in a city bank, and had only his salary to depend on, whereas Fraser was a junior partner with his father, a solicitor in Gray's Inn. Considering that there had been a serious quarrel, ending in blows, in the presence of the young lady, it was surprising that Marshall cared to remain intimate with the newly-married couple, but he may have had his revenge in view.

Except in their affection for the same young lady, no two individuals could have been more dissimilar in their tastes and habits than Fraser and Marshall. It was an instance of extremes meeting. Marshall read much, and was a thinker, persuasive and subtle. He effectually hid his wicked designs underneath a placid exterior. Not easily got out of temper, and when there was a purpose in view he was never impatient. In appearance he was rather handsome, of the medium height, slightly built, and very dark; eyes closely set together (a bad sign), small and bright.

On the other hand, Fraser was a tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed Saxon—an athlete not unknown at certain running-grounds, and at the Oval—a young man not over fond of book learning, but full of life, and a capital companion. His father had given him a year on the Continent before taking him into partnership, and in his travels he had managed to perfect his knowledge of the French and German languages. It was his ability to speak French which suggested the idea of his going to the Mauritius, and it was while on this voyage that his friend betrayed him.

His marriage with Miss Evans was not popular with his parents; they saw what a silly, frivolous girl she was, but they could not make him listen to reason. He was in love, I suppose, and consequently a little insane. At the wedding Marshall acted as best man, and a sister of his was one of the bridesmaids. The short honeymoon was spent in Paris, and on their return the happy pair found the villa they had taken ready for occupation. Enjoying excellent health, and with a good position, no two young people could have commenced their married life with finer prospects; but vessels sometimes founder in summer seas. Their happiness was fated to be but short-lived; their intimate friend was biding his opportunity to destroy it.

Marshall had not long to wait for the desired change. One of the oldest clients of Mr. Fraser, sen., was a Mr. Hampton, who had a sugar plantation in the island of Mauritius, managed by Frederick Lefevre, a Frenchman. The Governor, Sir George Bowen, had through a friend apprised Mr. Hampton that rumours to the discredit of Lefevre were current at Port Louis, and that the affairs of the estate wanted looking into. Mr. Hampton was old, and half an invalid, and, therefore, not inclined to undertake the long journey, and he asked his legal adviser whether he knew a suitable person. The remuneration was to be something handsome.

The lawyer thought that this would be a splendid opportunity for his son, but the young man would not hear of it unless he could take his wife with him, which was out of the question. He had only been married six months, and was, it was presumed, still surrounded by the glamour of love. Great pressure was brought to bear upon him to accept the mission. Even his wife's relatives agreed that it was too tempting a proposal to be rejected.

When Sydney Marshall was consulted he said there should be no hesitation whatever about it—that offers of that kind did not drop from the clouds every day. Such opportunities never came in his way. There was no occasion to trouble about Mrs. Fraser; he and his sister would look after her. They would do what they could to prevent the young wife being too miserable in her husband's absence. She was miserable enough at the idea of her husband leaving her, but somehow or other became reconciled to it. Finding everyone, not excepting his wife, in favour of his going, Fraser sailed for the Mauritius.

Mrs. Fraser, jun., did not appear to take the temporary loss of her husband very much to heart. She did not go to the theatre or visit her friends seldomer than before, and her constant companions were Marshall and his sister. Her mother-in-law hinted that she saw a little too much of the Marshall's, but the young wife replied that the close intimacy was the wish of her husband. At parting had not Edward put her hand in Marshall's and said, "Sydney, here is your other sister; remember, you are her guardian?"

Husbands who object to disagreeable surprises should always inform their wives of the hour of their return, so that their fair partners may be in waiting to receive them with open arms. At least that is the opinion of your humble servant, an unmarried man. Edward Fraser was foolish enough to neglect this precaution, and the result was quite the reverse of what he anticipated. In his mind's eye he no doubt often pictured the disconsolate wife gazing on his photograph and kissing it, and seeking consolation from his love-letters. And as the ship neared Southampton on the return journey he frequently heard, in imagination, her joyful cry of welcome as he stepped across the threshold of his home.

Leaving his luggage to be forwarded, he hurried up from Southampton, and reached the vicinity of his villa one night about eleven o'clock. He sent no telegram announcing his arrival in England, and the "Ajax," having had a good passage, reached port twenty-four hours before she was due. Everything favoured the pleasant surprise in store for his wife. He, like a lover who had a clandestine appointment, stopped the cab a few doors from the house, and jumped out with only a small bag in his hand, containing presents for the treasure of his heart (that is the correct phrase, I think). Stealthily opening the garden gate, the fond husband, dying to embrace his wife, hastened through the shrubbery and trees which bordered the approach to the front door and make the place pitch dark. All his precautions had been useless. Before he had gone many steps a lady rushed into his arms and kissed him.

"My darling," she whispered, "you have come at last!"

It was his wife; she had been on the watch for him. So overjoyed was he at this mark of affection, all he could say was—

"Beloved one!"

"There is no letter or telegram, dearest Sydney," she whispered in his ear, putting her arms round his neck; "a few more hours of bliss."

"Woman!" he exclaimed, horrified, "what do I hear? I am your husband."

She uttered a startled cry, jumped apart from him, and fled.

At this moment the gate clicked, and a footstep approached.

"He has returned! run for your life!" called out the wife from the shrubbery.

Sydney Marshall, for it was that trustworthy gentleman, did not require a second warning. He was out of the gate and round the corner in a second.

The dazed and maddened husband quickly followed, but Marshall was not to be seen, and he did not return to his apartments that night.

Fraser would not trust himself to go near his wife again, and he went to his father's. When father and son reached the villa next morning the servants told them that Mrs. Fraser had packed up a couple of boxes and left at six o'clock, as she said, to meet her husband.

The guilty pair had, no doubt, left London. It was ascertained that, on the plea of urgent private affairs, Marshall had received a fortnight's leave of absence from business.

"Let me know where they are, and your task is finished," he said to the detectives employed to trace them; and at the end of two days—an eternity to him—he got the address, a farmhouse, in the neighbourhood of Brighton. "That is enough," remarked Fraser; "I will now make sure that the scoundrel will not corrupt another man's wife." It was this remark that told so much against him at his trial.

In the darkening light of an October afternoon the quondam friends met face to face on the cliffs, and the deadly struggle began. It did not last long. Fraser, being the stronger of the two, soon had the advantage, and he hurled the destroyer of his happiness into the sea. The deed accomplished, the betrayed husband did not attempt to fly. He gave himself up to the first policeman he met; and all that he said to the inspector was, that, as the law did not meet his case, he had been obliged to be his own judge and executioner.

Not the slightest trace of Sydney Marshall, dead or alive, had been discovered.

The official report to the Home Secretary was based on these details, which I have curtailed as much as possible.

Whether they came at a wrong time or not, the petitions in favour of a commutation of the sentence were unsuccessful.

The execution took place within the precincts of Lewes Gaol, and, as the case interested me, and I had business at Brighton, I was present. It was quite true, Fraser owned that he had sought the man's life, and as he had broken the law he must pay the penalty. He proposed to meet his ignominious end with quiet firmness. An incident occurred at the last moment to destroy his fortitude, and which rivetted my attention. It was immediately before Marwood pulled the cap over the condemned man's face. Fraser was taking his last look on earth when his eyes met those of one of the reporters. Suddenly, as a flash of lightning, his face underwent the most extraordinary change; before it wore a resigned expression—now it had all the malignity of a fiend.

The governor and everyone could see that the man was terribly agitated; his body swayed violently, and he attempted to speak, but, as fortune would have it, the clock was sounding the last beat of eight, and the hangman made haste to finish his horrible work.

When all was over the reporter who had so greatly disturbed Fraser's dying moments sneaked quickly out of the prison, but I did not mean to lose sight of him. An explanation was necessary. Detectives see so many phases of crime that they are not usually astonished at anything, but I must own to being dumbfounded when I discovered, under all his disguise, that reporter to be Sydney Marshall.

A good swimmer, and terrified for his life, he had, when pitched into the water, struck out to sea in the hope that he might fall in with a passing vessel, and he was evidently picked up by a French fishing-boat and landed at Portail.

"Why were you there?" I demanded, pointing to the gaol.

"As I was never safe until he was dead, I wished to see the last of him."

"But how did you obtain an entrance?" I asked.

"Easily enough. I induced a Brighton reporter to let me take his place."

"Do you think Fraser recognised you?"

"I am sure he did."

"Hanging would be too good for you!" I said.

The villain was tired of my examination. What could have been done with him if I had detained him?

Several years have passed since then, but, directly or indirectly, I have heard nothing more of Sydney Marshall.

It was some consolation for Fraser's heartbroken parents to know that the prisoner was guiltless of murder.

The notoriety was too much for the Evans' family, and with their frail daughter they emigrated to Buenos Ayres.