Mr. Lethbridge was unexpectedly brief in his opening address. He
ridiculed the idea that a man like the prisoner, trained in the
atmosphere of the law, would take the law into his own hands in seeking
revenge for a wrong that had been done to him. According to the
prosecution the prisoner had calmly and deliberately carried out this
murder. He had sent a letter to Sir Horace Fewbanks with the object of
inducing him to return to London, and had subsequently gone to
Riversbrook and shot the man who had been his lifelong friend. Could
anything be more improbable than to suppose that a man of the accused's
training, intellect, and force of character, would be swayed by a gust of
passion into committing such a dreadful crime like an immature ignorant
youth of unbalanced temperament? The discovery that his wife and his
friend were carrying on an intrigue would be more likely to fill him with
disgust than inspire him with murderous rage. He would not deny that
accused had gone up to Riversbrook a few hours after Sir Horace Fewbanks
returned from Scotland; he would admit that when the accused sought this
interview he knew that his quondam friend had done him the greatest wrong
one man could do another; but he emphatically denied that the prisoner
killed Sir Horace Fewbanks or threatened to take his life.

His learned friend had asked why had not the prisoner gone to the police
after the murder was discovered and told them that he had seen Sir Horace
at Riversbrook that night. The answer to that was clear and emphatic. He
did not want to take the police into his confidence with regard to the
relations that had existed between his wife and the dead man. He wanted
to save his wife's name from scandal. Was not that a natural impulse for
a high-minded man? The prisoner had believed that in due course the
police would discover the actual murderer, and that in the meantime the
scandal which threatened his wife's name would be buried with the man who