1ayCb4S

THE COACH
The trial lasted one hundred ninety days.
Some hundred witnesses swore that the accused
was Roger Charles Tichborne—among them,
four comrades-at-arms from the 6th Dragoons.
Orton's supporters steadfastly maintained that
he was no impostor—had he been, they pointed
out, he would surely have attempted to copy the
juvenile portraits of his model. And besides,
Lady Tichborne had recognized and accepted
him; clearly, in such matters, a mother does not
err. All was going well, then—more or less—
until an old sweetheart of Orton's was called to
testify. Not a muscle of Bogle's face twitched at
that perfidious maneuver by the "family"; he
called for his black umbrella and his top hat and
he went out into the decorous streets of London
to seek a third inspiration. We shall never know
whether he found it.
Shortly before he came to Primrose Hill, he
was struck by that terrible vehicle that had been
pursuing him through all these years. Bogle saw
it coming and managed to cry out, but he could
not manage to save himself. He was thrown