You needn't pack,” said Sampson to his valet that evening. “I'm stuck.”
“Stuck, sir?”
“Caught on the jury, Turple. Landed at last. But,” he sighed, “I've
given 'em a good run though, haven't I?”
“You 'ave, sir. I dare say you will like it 'owever, now that you've
been stuck, as you say. My father, when he was alive, was very fond
of serving on the juries, sir. He was constantly being 'ad up in small
cases, and it was 'is greatest ham--ambition to get a whack at a good
'orrifying murder trial. I 'ope as 'ow you 'ave been stuck on a murder
case, sir. In England we--”
“It isn't a murder case. Merely embezzlement. But I must not discuss the
case, Turple, not even with you.”
“What a pity, sir. You usually consult me about any think that--”
“Call up the New York Central office at Thirtieth Street and cancel my
reservations, and lay out a blue serge suit for to-morrow.”
“Isn't it a bit coolish to be wearing a serge--”
“Those court-rooms are frightfully close, Turple. A blue serge.''
“You look better in a blue serge than anythink you--”
“It is comfort, not looks, that I'm after, Turple,” explained Sampson,
who perhaps lied.
“Sets a man off as no other goods--I beg pardon, sir. I will call up the
booking office at once, sir. The blue serge, sir?”
“The blue serge,” said Sampson, brightly. “Anythink else, sir?”
Sampson grew facetious. “You might give me a shirt and a collar and a
necktie, Turple.” The man bowed gravely and retreated. His master, moved
by an increasing exhilaration, called after him: “I might also suggest a
pair of shoes and--well, you know what else I'm in the habit of wearing
in the daytime.”
Turple, knowing his master's feelings about jury service, was very much
amazed later on to hear him whistling cheerily as he made preparations
for a dinner engagement. The mere thought of a jury, heretofore, had
created in his master a mood provocative of blasphemy, and here he
was--actually “landed,” as he had put it himself--whistling as gaily as
a meadow lark. Turple shook his head, completely puzzled, for he also
knew his master to be a most abstemious man. In all his three years
of association with his employer he had never known him to take a
nip during the daytime, and that is what Turple called being most
abstemious.
The next morning Sampson, instead of hanging back aggrievedly as was
his wont, was in the court-room bright and early--(half an hour ahead of
time, in fact)--and he never looked fresher, handsomer or more full
of the joy of living. He passed the time of day with the attendants,
chatted agreeably with No. 2, who also came in early, and subsequently
listened politely to the worries of No. 5, a chubby-faced bachelor
who couldn't for the life of him understand why the deuce manicurers
persisted in cutting the cuticle after having been warned not to do so.
He rather pitied No. 7, who appeared in a cutaway coat a trifle too
small for his person and a very high collar that attracted a great deal
of attention from its wearer if from no one else. No. 7, he recalled,
had been quite indifferently garbed the day before: a shiny, well-worn
sack coat, trousers that had not been pressed since the day they left
the department store, and a “turndown” collar that had been through the
“mangle” no less than a hundred times--and should have been in one at
that instant instead of around his neck. No. 7 was also minus a three
days' growth of beard.
Everybody seemed bright and cheerful. There were still two more jurors
to be secured when court convened. Never in all his experience had
Sampson seen a judge on the bench who behaved so beautifully as this
one. He looked as though he never had had a grouch in his life, and as
if he really enjoyed listening to the same old questions over and over
again. Occasionally he interjected a question or an interpolation that
must have been witty, for he graciously permitted his hearers to
laugh with him; and at no time was he cross or domineering. His hair,
carefully brushed, was sleekly plastered into an enduring neatness, and
his moustache was never so smartly trimmed and twisted as it was on this
sprightly morning. One might have been led into believing that it was
not winter but early spring.
The deputy clerk had taken too much pains in shaving himself that
morning, for in his desire to scrape closely in the laudable effort
to curb the sandy growth on his cheek and chin, he had managed to do
something that called for the application of a long strip of pale pink
court-plaster immediately in front of his left ear. He was particular
about turning the other cheek, however, so that unless you walked
completely around him you wouldn't have noticed the court-plaster. The
attendants, noted for their untidiness, were perceptibly spruced up. If
any one of them was chewing tobacco, he managed to disguise the fact.
The only person in the court-room, aside from the prisoner himself,
who had not changed for the better over night, was Miss Alexandra
Hildebrand. She could not have changed for the better if she had tried.
When she took her seat beside her grandfather, she was attired as on the
day before. Her cool, appraising eyes swept the jury box. More than
one occupant of that despised pen felt conscious of his sartorial
rehabilitation. A faint smile appeared at the corners of her adorable
mouth. Even Sampson, the proud and elegant Sampson, wondered what there
was for her to smile at.
Being utterly disinterested in the composition of the jury of which he
was an integral part, Sampson paid not the slightest attention to the
process of rounding out the even dozen. While counsel struggled over the
selection of talesmen to fill the two vacant places, he devoted himself
to the study of Miss Hildebrand. This study was necessarily of a
surreptitious character, and was interrupted from time to time by the
divergence of the young lady's attention from the men who were being
examined to those already accepted. At such times, Sampson shifted his
gaze quickly. In two instances he was not quite swift enough, and she
caught him at it. He was very much annoyed with himself. Of course, she
would put him in a class with the other members of the jury, and that
was a distinction not to be coveted. They were very honest, reliable
fellows, no doubt, but Heaven knows they were not well-bred. No
well-bred man would stare at Miss Hildebrand as No. 4 was staring, and
certainly No. 7 was the most unmannerly person he bad ever seen. The
fellow sat with his mouth open half the time, his lips hanging limp in
a fixed fatuous smile, bis gaze never wavering. Sampson took the trouble
to dissect No. 7's visage--in some exasperation, it may be said. He
found that he had a receding chin and prominent upper teeth. Just the
sort of a fellow, thought Sampson, who was sure to consider himself
attractive to women.
Miss Hildebrand was twenty-four or -five, he concluded. She was neither
tall nor short, nor was she what one would describe as fashionably
emaciated. Indeed, she was singularly without angles of any description.
Her hair was brown and naturally wavy--at least, so said Sampson, poor
simpleton--and it grew about her neck and temples in a most alluring
manner. Her eyes were clear and dark and amazingly intelligent. Sampson
repented at once of the word intelligent, but he couldn't think of a
satisfactory synonym. Intelligent, he reflected, is a word applied only
to the optics of dumb brutes--such as dogs, foxes, raccoons and the
like--and to homely young women with brains. Understanding--that was the
word he meant to use--she had understanding eyes, and they were shaded
by very long and beautiful lashes.
Her chin was firm and delicate, her mouth--well, it was a mouth that
would bear watching, it had so many imperilling charms.
Her nose? Sampson hadn't the faintest idea how to describe a nose.
Noses, he maintained, are industrial or economic devices provided by
nature for the sole purpose of harbouring colds, and are either lovely
or horrid. There is no intermediate class in noses. You either have
a nose that is fearfully noticeable or you have one that isn't. A
noticeable nose is one that completely and adequately describes itself,
sparing you the effort, while the other kind of a nose--such as Miss
Hildebrand's--is one that you wouldn't see at all unless you made an
especial business of it. That sort of a nose is simply a part of one's
face. There are faces, on the other hand, as you know, that are merely a
part of one's nose.
His rather hasty analysis of yesterday was supported by the more
deliberate observations of to-day. She was a cool-headed, discerning
young woman, and not offensively clever as so many of her sex prove
to be when it is revealed to them that they possess the power to
concentrate the attention of men. Her interest in the proceedings was
keen and extremely one-sided. She was not at all interested in the men
who failed to come up to her notion of what a juror ought to be. It was
always she who put the final stamp of approval on the jurors selected.
Two or three times she unmistakably overcame the contentions of her
grandfather's counsel, and men got into the box who, without her
support, would have been challenged--and rightly, too, thought Sampson.
No. 7 for instance. He certainly was not an ideal juror for the
defendant, thought Sampson. And the fat little bachelor--why, he
actually had admitted under oath that he knew the district attorney
and a number of his assistants, and was a graduate of Yale. But Miss
Hildebrand picked him as a satisfactory juror.
Sampson's reflections--or perhaps his ruminations--were brought to an
end by the completion of the jury. The last man accepted was a callow
young chap with eye-glasses, who confessed to being an automobile
salesman.
They were sworn immediately and then the senior counsel for the State
arose and announced that he had no desire to keep the jury confined
during the course of the trial; the State was satisfied to allow the
members to go to their own homes over night if the defence had no
objections. Promptly the attorneys for the defendant, evidently scenting
something unusual, put their heads together and whispered. A moment
later one of them got up and said that the defence would take the
unusual course of asking that the jury be put in charge of bailiffs. He
did not get very far in his remarks, however. Miss Hildebrand's eyes had
swept the jury box from end to end. She observed the look of dismay that
leaped into the faces of the entire dozen. Sampson had a queer notion
that she looked at him longer than at the others, and that her gaze was
rather penetrating. An instant later she was whispering in the ear of
the second lawyer, and--well, they were all in conference again. After
a period of uncertainty for the victims, the first lawyer, smiling
benignly now, withdrew his motion to confine the jury, and graciously
signified that the defence was ready to proceed.
The first witness for the State was a Mr. Stevens. Sampson was sure from
the beginning that he wasn't going to like Mr. Stevens. He was a prim,
rather precious gentleman of forty-five, with a fond look in his eye
and a way of putting the tips of his four fingers and two thumbs together
that greatly enhanced the value of the aforesaid look. In addition to
these mild charms of person, he had what Sampson always described as
a “prissy” manner of speaking. No. 4 made a friend of Sampson by
whispering--against the rules, and behind his hand, of course--that he'd
like to “slap the witness on the wrist.” Sampson whispered back that
he'd probably break his watch if he did.
Anyhow, Mr. Stevens was recognised at once as the principal witness
for the State. He was the head of the company that had suffered by the
alleged peculations of Mr. Hildebrand. Ably assisted by the district
attorney, the witness revealed the whole history of the Cornwallis
Realty and Investment Company.
James Hildebrand was its founder, some thirty years prior to his
surreptitious retirement, and for the first twenty years of its
existence he was its president. At the end of that period in the history
of the thriving and honourable business, Mr. Stevens became an active
and important member of the firm through the death of his father, who
had long been associated with Mr. Hildebrand as a partner. The other
partners were John L. Drew, Joseph Schoolcraft, Henry R. Kauffman and
James Hildebrand, Jr., the son of the president. The business, according
to Mr. Stevens, was then being conducted along “back number” lines. It
became necessary and expedient to introduce fresh, vigorous, up-to-date
methods in order to compete successfully with younger and more
enterprising concerns. (On cross-examination, Mr. Stevens admitted
that the company was not making money fast enough.) The defendant, it
appears, was a conservative. He held out stubbornly for the old, obsolete
methods, and, the concern being incorporated, it was the wisdom of
the other members (Hildebrand, Jr., dissenting) that a complete
reorganisation be perfected. The witness was made president, Mr. Drew
vice-president, and Mr. Hildebrand secretary and treasurer, without bond.
His son withdrew from the company altogether, repairing to Colorado for
residence, dying there three years later.
The defendant, individually and apart from his holdings in the company,
owned considerable real-estate on Manhattan Island. His income, aside
from his salary and his share of profits in the business, was derived
from rentals and leaseholds on these several pieces of property. Values
in certain districts of New York fell off materially when business
shifted from old established centres and wended its fickle way
northward. Mr. Hildebrand was hard hit by the exodus. His investments
became a burden instead of a help and ultimately he was obliged to make
serious sacrifices. He sold his downtown property. The depreciation was
deplorable, Mr. Stevens admitted.
The former president of the company soon found himself in straitened
circumstances. He was no longer well-to-do and prosperous; instead, he
was confronted by conditions which made it extremely difficult for him
to retain his considerable interest in the business. The company at this
stage in the affairs of their secretary and treasurer, proffered help
to him in what Mr. Stevens considered an extremely liberal way. It was
proposed that Mr. Hildebrand sell out his interest in the company to the
witness and his brother-in-law, Mr. Drew, they agreeing to take all of
his stock at a figure little short of par, notwithstanding it was a very
bad year--1907, to be precise.
The defendant refused to sell. Subsequently he reconsidered, and they
took over his stock, excepting five shares which he retained for obvious
reasons, and he was paid in cash forty-four thousand dollars for the
remaining forty shares. Mr. Stevens already had purchased, at a much
higher price, the fifteen shares belonging to James Hildebrand, Jr. The
defendant was to retain the position of secretary and treasurer at a
fixed salary of six thousand dollars a year.
In brief--although the district attorney was a long time in getting it
all out of Mr. Stevens--it was not until 1908 that the bomb burst and
the company awoke to the fact that its treasury was being, or to put
it exactly, had been systematically robbed of a great many thousands
of dollars. Experts were secretly put to work on the books and after
several weeks they reported that at one time the total shortage had
reached a figure in excess of ninety-five thousand dollars, but that
this amount had been reduced by the restoration of approximately fifty
thousand dollars during a period covering the eleven months immediately
preceding the investigation. It was established beyond all question that
the clerks and bookkeepers in the office were absolutely guiltless, and,
to the profound distress of the directors, the detectives employed on
the case declared in no uncertain terms that there was but one man who
could explain the shortage. That man was the former president of this
old and reliable concern, James W. Hildebrand.
To avoid a scandal and also to spare if possible the man they all loved
and respected, Mr. Stevens was authorised by the other directors to
effect a compromise of some sort whereby the company might regain
at least a portion of the funds on the promise not to prosecute. The
defendant, however, had got wind of the discovery, and, to the utter
dismay of his friends, fled like a thief in the night. Mr. Stevens did
not have the chance to see him.
The defalcation was not made public for several weeks. An effort was
made to get in touch with the fugitive, in the hope that he could be
induced to return without being subjected to open disgrace, but he had
vanished so completely that at first it was feared he had made way with
himself. He was at the time a widower, his wife having died many years
before. His son James was the only child of that marriage, and he was
living--or rather dying, in Colorado. Private detectives watched the
home and the movements of the son for some weeks, hoping to obtain a
clue to the old man's whereabouts.
Then, out of a clear sky, as it were, came letters to each of the
stockholders, posted in Paris and written by the fugitive. In these
letters he made the most unfair charges against the witness and against
Mr. Drew. Without in any way attempting to explain, confess or express
regret for his own defection, he horrified both Mr. Stevens and Mr. Drew
with the staggering accusation that they had tricked him into selling
certain downtown property at an outrageously low figure, when they knew
at the time of the transaction that an insurance company had its eye on
the property with the view to erecting two mammoth office buildings
on the ground. Subsequent events, declared the writer, bore out his
contention, for it was on record that his two partners did sell to the
insurance company for nearly ten times the amount they had paid him for
the property; and, moreover, at that very moment two large buildings
were standing on the ground that had once been occupied by his ancient
and insignificant six story structures.
In so many words, this old defaulter (to use Mr. Stevens' surprisingly
acid words) deliberately sought to discredit them in the eyes of their
fellow-directors and stockholders. He accused them of foul methods and
actually had the effrontery to warn all those interested in the business
with them to be on their guard or they would be tricked as he had been.
(Note: One of these letters, now five years old, was introduced in
evidence as Exhibit A.)
Sampson afterwards found himself marvelling over the assistant district
attorney's stupidity in introducing this particular bit of evidence. It
was the cross-examination that opened his eyes to the atrocious mistake
the State had made in volunteering the evidence touching upon the
real-estate transaction.
This extraordinary behaviour on the part of the defendant quite
naturally irritated--(Mr. Stevens would not say infuriated, although Mr.
O'Brien, on cross-examination, tried his level best to make him use the
word)--both the witness and Mr. Drew, who felt that their honour
had been vilely attacked. They had no difficulty in convincing their
partners and other interested persons that the charge was ridiculous and
made solely for the purpose of enlisting their sympathy in behalf of one
they were now forced to describe as a cowardly criminal and no longer as
a misguided unfortunate.
It was then, and then only, that the witness and Mr. Drew took the
matter before the Grand Jury and obtained the indictment against the
defendant.
Having covered the preliminary stages of the case pretty thoroughly,
Mr. Stevens was required to tell all that he knew about the actual
misappropriation of the funds. This he did with exceeding clarity and
sorrow. However, despite his mildness, he did not leave a shred of Mr.
Hildebrand's honour untouched; he had it in tatters by mid-afternoon and
at four o'clock, when court adjourned, there wasn't anything left of it
at all.
Sampson was gloomy that night. He did not go to sleep until long after
two, although he went to bed at eleven--an unspeakably early hour for
him. Things certainly looked black for the old man. If Stevens was to
be believed, James Hildebrand was a most stupendous rascal. And yet,
to look at him--to study his fine, gentle old face, his tired but
unwavering eyes, his singularly unrepentant mien--one could hardly
be blamed for doubting the man's capacity for doing the evil and
reprehensible deed that was laid at his door. Sampson hated to think of
him as guilty. More than that, he hated to have Miss Hildebrand think
that he thought of him as guilty.
He laid awake for three mortal hours trying to think what Miss
Hildebrand meant by looking at him as she did from time to time. Not
once but a score of times her gaze met bis--usually after a damaging
reply by Mr. Stevens, or some objectionable question by the district
attorney--and always she appeared to be intent on divining, if possible,
just what its effect would be on him.
Her clear, soft eyes looked straight into his for an instant, and he saw
something in them that he took for anxiety. That was all: just anxiety.
It couldn't, of course, be anything else--and, why shouldn't she be
anxious? Anybody would be under the circumstances. As a matter of fact,
he was a little anxious himself, and certainly he was not as vitally
interested as she in the welfare of James W. Hildebrand. But after
thinking it all over again, he wasn't so sure that it was anxiety. He
was forced to believe that she looked confident, almost serene--as
if there was not the slightest doubt in her mind that her grandfather
couldn't possibly have done a single one of the things that Mr. Stevens
accused him of doing.
Sampson was perturbed. He couldn't divest himself of the suspicion that
she expected him to also disbelieve every word that the witness uttered.
It was most upsetting. He made up his mind that he would not look at her
at all on the following day. But even that resolution didn't put him to
sleep. Not at all. The more he thought of it, the wider awake he became.
True, she had looked at the other jurors from time to time--especially
at the rehabilitated No. 7, the rubicund bachelor and the spectacled No.
12. But he was sure that she did not look at them in the same way that
she looked at him, nor as often, nor as long. It seemed to him that even
when she looked at the others, she always allowed her glance to return
to him for an instant after its somewhat indifferent tour of inspection.
He remembered indulging in a rather close and critical inspection of
the countenances of his fellow jurors at one time, during a lull in the
proceedings, and that calculating but not unkind scrutiny convinced him
of one thing: they certainly were not much to look at.
The more he thought about it, the more it was revealed to him that the
expression in her eyes was of a questioning, inquiring nature, as
one who might be saying to herself: are these men--or this one, in
particular--entirely devoid of intelligence?
He was four minutes late in court the next morning, and it was all
the fault of the too indulgent Turple. Turple, being a sagacious and
faithful menial, respectfully neglected to disturb his master's slumber
until after nine o'clock, and as a result Sampson had to go without
his breakfast and almost without his shave in order to get down to the
court-room in time. Turple received emphatic orders to rout him out of
bed at seven o'clock every morning after that, no matter how bitterly he
was abused for doing so.
He was out of breath when he dropped into his chair in the jury box,
expecting and dreading a rebuke from the Court for his tardiness.
He glanced at Miss Alexandra Hildebrand, almost apologetically. It
certainly was not relief that he felt on discovering that she was paying
no attention whatever to him. She was engaged in consultation with the
two lawyers and did not even so much as glance in his direction when he
popped into his seat.
The justice was still on his good behaviour. He bowed politely to
Sampson and then looked at the clock.
The cross-examination of Mr. Stevens began. Sampson was agreeably
surprised by the astuteness, the suavity, the unexpected resourcefulness
of Mr. O'Brien, who questioned the witness.
“You say, Mr. Stevens, that James Hildebrand, Jr., retired from the
company about two years prior to the retirement of his father, the
defendant. Why did the younger Hildebrand retire?”
“He was not satisfied with the reorganisation.”
“Isn't it true that you and he were not on friendly terms and that he
refused to serve with you--”
“We object!” interrupted the district attorney. “The question is not--”
“Objection overruled,” said the Court testily. “Finish your question,
Mr. O'Brien, and then answer it, Mr. Witness.”
“We were not on friendly terms,” admitted Mr. Stevens, who looked
vaguely surprised on being addressed as “Mr. Witness.”
“And he preferred to get out of the company rather than to serve on the
board with you? Isn't that true?”
“I cannot answer that question. I can only say that he disposed of his
interests and retired.”
“Who purchased his stock?”
“Mr. Schoolcraft, one of the directors.”
“Who owns that stock to-day?”
“I do.”
“When did you purchase it of Mr. Schoolcraft?”
“I do not remember.”
“Was it a week, a month or a year after the original sale?”
“A couple of months, I suppose.”
“Do you know what Mr. Schoolcraft paid for that stock?”
“I do not.”
“You do know what you paid him for it, however?”
“I paid ninety-five and a fraction for it.”
“Didn't you buy twenty shares of Mr. Schoolcraft's stock at the same
time?”
“I did.”
“Did you pay ninety-five and a fraction for the Schoolcraft stock?”
“I think I paid a little more than that.”
“Didn't you pay one-twenty-seven for the Schoolcraft stock, Mr.
Stevens?”
“I may have paid that much. Mr. Schoolcraft was not eager to sell. He
held out for a stiff price.”
“He owned the Hildebrand stock, didn't he? Why should he sell fifteen
shares at ninety-five and a fraction when he might just as well have had
one-twenty-seven?”
“We object,” said the district attorney mildly.
“State your objection,” said the Court. “Incompetent and irrevelant and
having no possible bearing on the subject--”
“Withdraw the question,” said Mr. O'Brien suavely. “Did you not offer
James Hildebrand, Jr., one-ten for his stock, Mr. Stevens, through his
father? I say 'through his father' because you were not on speaking
terms with the son?”
“I think I did.”
“And didn't young Hildebrand send word that he wouldn't sell to you at
any price?”
“Something of the sort. He was unreasonable.”
“You were, therefore, very much surprised and gratified to get it at
ninety-five and a fraction from Mr. Schoolcraft later on, were you not?”
“I was not surprised,” confessed Mr. Stevens, separating his finger tips
for the first time, and shifting his position so that he could fold his
arms comfortably. “Mr. Schoolcraft bought the stock for me. There was no
secret about it. Hildebrand must have known that Schoolcraft was acting
for me. I was fair enough to offer him one-ten. It is not my fault that
he was eventually forced to sell fifteen points lower. I was not to
blame because he was hard-pressed or pinched for ready money.”
“He was a sick man, wasn't he?”
“His health was poor.”
“He was ordered to Colorado by his physicians, wasn't he?”
“I believe so.”
“And wasn't that the real reason why he was forced to sell out, and not
because he objected to the reorganisation?”
“We object,” said the Stated attorney. “Objection sustained.”
Sampson looked at Miss Hildebrand. Her gaze shifted from the Court to
him almost in the same instant, and it seemed to express astonishment,
even incredulity--as if she were saying (although he was sure she would
not have expressed herself so vulgarly): “Well, can you beat that!”
“And now, Mr. Stevens,” went on Mr. O'Brien, after taking the usual
exception, “you testified in direct examination that you and Mr. Drew
purchased the defendant's Manhattan property. Did you buy it for
the Cornwallis Realty and Investment Company, or for yourselves as
individuals?”
“We bought it for ourselves, as individuals.”
“The company was not interested in the transaction?”
“No.”
“Did you first give the company an opportunity to buy, or did you--”
“I said it was a private transaction. We have interests outside of
the company, sir--just as you have interests outside of your legal
business,” said the witness tartly.
“I see. Well, Mr. Hildebrand was pressed for money at the time of the
transaction, I believe you have said. This was some time before the
alleged defalcation took place, I understand.”
“A year and a half prior to our discovery of the theft,” corrected Mr.
Stevens.
“And you have testified that the so-called theft dated back even beyond
that, at its beginning.”
“So the expert accountants informed us. I have no means of knowing for
myself.''
“And it was your conclusion that he sold his property in the effort to
rehabilitate himself before his misfortune was discovered?”
“I did not allude to it as a misfortune, sir.”
“Well, then, his crime.”
“I have said that such was my conclusion.”
“Will you again, state just what you paid for the property in question?”
“We paid two hundred thousand dollars for the two pieces.”
“Cash?”
“Part in cash and part in an exchange for property in the Bronx. Sixty
thousand in cash. The Bronx property is in the shape of building lots,
valued at more than two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Then or now?”
“Then _and_ now, sir.”
“State, if you know, does Mr. Hildebrand still own this Bronx property?”
“I believe it is in his name.”
“And it is still worth two hundred thousand dollars?”
“It is worth a great deal more, sir.”
“I see. Now, Mr. Stevens, you have testified that this defendant wrote
letters to the several members of your corporation, advising them that
you and Mr. Drew had sold this downtown property to an insurance
company for ten times as much as you paid him for it. Was Mr. Hildebrand
uttering the truth when he made that assertion?”
“Am I obliged to answer that question, your Honour?”
“Yes. It is a very simple question,” said the Court drily, giving his
moustache a gentle twist.
“We received one million eight hundred thousand for the property,” said
Mr. Stevens, defiantly.
“Cash?”
“Yes.”
“You didn't take any Bronx property in exchange?”
“Certainly not.”
“How long was this after the time you purchased the property?”
“About two years.”
“Isn't it true that you were offered a million dollars for the property
two weeks after you bought it?”
“What has all this got to do with the case?”
“You can say yes or no, can't you, Mr. Stevens?”
“I shall say no, then. We were approached by persons representing the
insurance company, but they made no bona fide offer.”
“They asked you if a million would tempt you, though, didn't they?”
“I don't remember.”
“In any event, you told them that you held the property at two millions,
didn't you? That was your price?”
“It was our price, yes.”
“And you held off selling until they finally came to your terms--or
nearly up to them--and then you sold?”
“We sold when we were ready, Mr. O'Brien.”
“I see. Did you know before purchasing Mr. Hildebrand's property that
this insurance company was desirous of buying it for building purposes?”
“Object!” interposed the district attorney. “Objection sustained,” said
the Court.
Again Sampson, who was enjoying Mr. Stevens' discomfiture, looked at
Miss Hildebrand. Simultaneously eleven other gentlemen sitting in two
parallel rows, looked at her. She may have found it too difficult to
look at all of them at once, so she confined her gaze to Sampson, who
felt in duty hound--as a juror sworn to be fair and impartial--to look
the other way as quickly as possible. He was sorry that he was obliged
to do this, for there was something in her eyes that warranted quite a
little time for analysis.
The cross-examination proceeded. Sampson, resolutely directed his gaze
out of its natural channel and devoted a great deal more attention to
the witness than he felt that the witness deserved. He could not help
feeling, however, that he was treating Miss Hildebrand with unnecessary
boorishness. No doubt she looked at him from time to time, and she
must have felt a little bit hurt, not to say offended--by his somewhat
conspicuous indifference.
Suddenly he pricked up his ears. Mr. O'Brien had put to the witness a
question that had something of a personal interest in it.
“James Hildebrand, Jr., lost his wife in 1906, did he not, Mr. Stevens?”
“I don't remember the year.”
“You remember when he was married, however, do you not?”
“I can't say. I think it was in 1888.” The witness had turned a rather
sickly green. He spoke with an effort.
“The year after you and he graduated from college, wasn't it?”
“We were in the class of '87.”
“You are still unmarried, I believe, Mr. Stevens?”
“I am unmarried, sir,” said the witness, sitting up a little straighter
in the chair.
“Did you know Miss Katherine Alexander before she was married to James
Hildebrand?”
“I did,” said Stevens, his face set.
Sampson ventured a swift look at Alexandra Hildebrand. She was looking
down at the table, her face half averted. It struck him as exceedingly
brutal of Mr. O'Brien to drag this poor girl's dead mother into the
public light of--But the lawyer asked another question.
“You and young Mr. Hildebrand remained friends for a number of years
after his marriage, did you not?”
“I always thought so.”
“You never bore him any ill will?”
“What do you mean?”
“I withdraw the question. When was it that you and James Hildebrand,
Jr., ceased to be friends?”
“I--I don't know. I cannot go into that matter, Mr. O'Brien. I--” Mr.
Stevens was visibly distressed.
“Wasn't it in 1895 that you and he ceased to be friends?” persisted the
lawyer.
“There was a terrible misunderstanding, I--that is, I should say--”
“In 1895, wasn't it?”
“I think so.” Mr. Stevens was perspiring. He looked beseechingly at the
district attorney, who happened to be gazing pensively out of the window
at the time.
“You were a frequent and welcome visitor at young Hildebrand's home up
to 1895, weren't you?”
“It was through no fault of mine that the friendship was broken off. Mr.
Hildebrand behaved in a most outrageous manner toward me.”
“Isn't it true, Mr. Stevens, that Mr. Hildebrand ordered you out of his
house and told you that you were not to enter it again?”
“Mr. Hildebrand grievously misunderstood my--”
“Answer the question, please. Were you not ordered out of your friend's
house?”
“Am I obliged, your Honour, to answer--”
“Answer yes or no,” said the Court, leaning forward and fixing the
witness with a very severe stare. (Sampson regarded him as distinctly
human, after all.) Miss Hildebrand's, eyes were still lowered. The aged
prisoner, however, was looking a hole through the now miserable witness.
“He threatened to kill me,” exclaimed Stevens violently. “He acted like
a crazy man over a perfectly innocent--”
“He ordered you out, didn't he?” came the deadly question.
Mr. Stevens swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“And you maintain that he took that step because he misunderstood
something or other, eh?”
“Most certainly.”
“Well, what was it he misunderstood?”
“I must decline to answer. I stand on my rights.”
“Wasn't it because Mrs. Hildebrand complained to him that you had
been--er--unnecessarily offensive to her?”
“I decline to answer.”
“In any event, you never entered his house again, and you never spoke to
him or his wife after that. Isn't that true?'
“I was justified in ignoring both of them. They insulted me most--”
“I understand, Mr. Stevens. We will drop the matter. I have no desire
to cause you unnecessary pain. Now will you be good enough to state
when you first noticed that there was something wrong with the books
and accounts of the defendant? What first caused you to suspect that the
funds were being juggled, as you put it in the direct examination?”
Mr. Stevens had an easier time of it after that. He resumed his placid,
kindly air, and maintained it to the end, although a keen observer
might have observed an uneasy respect for Mr. O'Brien. He appeared to be
relieved when the examination was concluded.
Sampson went out to luncheon in a more cheerful frame of mind. It
was quite clear to every one that Mr. Stevens was guilty, at least
circumstantially, of conduct unbecoming a gentleman.