graceful neck, and covered with clusters of dark hair. He would have
looked in his place near the throne of a queen, or, on the back of a war
horse, leading a forlorn hope; but no one could understand his being
prisoner in a dock. Mr. Kent looked at him, wondering with what he was
charged. Surely, with that noble face and gentlemanly bearing, he had
never been guilty of a common assault. Magistrate as he was, Mr. Kent
listened to the recital of the charge, with some curiosity.

Jules St. Croix, Count of the French Empire, charged the prisoner at the
bar with having broken into his rooms for the purpose of robbery. He had
been discovered in the count's drawing-room, where he had forced open an
ivory casket and stolen the contents, which were an ancient and valuable
gold watch and a gold ring, also of considerable value. At the moment
that the count, followed by his servant, entered the room, the prisoner
had these articles in his hand. He dropped them immediately, but the
count, hastily calling for the police, gave him in charge.

There was a smell of burned paper in the room and it was nearly eleven
at night.

The magistrate asked if the prisoner had made any resistance. Policeman
C. No. 14, answered, "No, he gave in at once; and came straight away."

Mr. Kent asked again: "Was there anything in the casket beside the
jewelry?"

It seemed to be a very insignificant question, but the prisoner and the
count looked steadfastly at each other and both answered: "No."

There were two witnesses. Robert Bolton, the count's servant, and C. No.