Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers
that had to do with it. Never in a debtors’ prison?- Come, once
again. Never? Yes. How many times? Two or three times. Not five
or six? Perhaps. Of what profession? Gentleman. Ever been kicked?
Might have been. Frequently? No. Ever kicked downstairs?
Decidedly not; once received a kick on the top of a staircase, and
fell down-stairs of his own accord. Kicked on that occasion for
cheating at dice? Something to that effect was said by the
intoxicated liar who committed the assault, but it was not true.
Swear it was not true? Positively. Ever live by cheating at play?
Never. Ever live by play? Not more than other gentlemen do. Ever
borrow money of the prisoner? Yes. Ever pay him? No. Was not
this intimacy with the prisoner, in reality a very slight one, forced
upon the prisoner in coaches, inns, and packets? No. Sure he saw
the prisoner with these lists? Certain. Knew no more about the
lists? No. Had not procured them himself, for instance? No.
Expect to get anything by this evidence? No. Not in regular
government pay and employment, to lay traps? Oh dear no. Or to
do anything? Oh dear no. Swear that? Over and over again. No
motives but motives of sheer patriotism? None whatever.
The virtuous servant, Roger Cly, swore his way through the case at
a great rate. He had taken service with the prisoner, in good faith
and simplicity, four years ago. He had asked the prisoner, aboard
the Calais packet, if he wanted a handy fellow, and the prisoner
had engaged him. He had not asked the prisoner to take the handy
fellow as an act of charity-never thought of such a thing. He began
to have suspicions of the prisoner, and to keep an eye upon him,
soon afterwards. In arranging his clothes, while travelling, he had
seen similar lists to these in the prisoner’s pockets, over and over
again. He had taken these lists from the drawer of the prisoner’s
desk. He had not put them there first. He had seen the prisoner
show these identical lists to French gentlemen at Calais, and
similar lists to French gentlemen, both at Calais and Boulogne. He
loved his country, and couldn’t bear it, and had given information.
He had never been suspected of stealing a silver tea-pot; he had
been maligned respecting a mustard-pot, but it turned out to be
only a plated one. He had known the last witness seven or eight
years; that was merely a coincidence. He didn’t call it a particularly
curious coincidence; most coincidences were curious. Neither did
he call it a curious coincidence that true patriotism was his only
motive too. He was a true Briton, and hoped there were many like
The blue-flies buzzed again, and Mr. Attorney-General called Mr.
“Mr. Jarvis Lorry, are you a clerk in Tellson’s bank?” “I am.”