A DAY OF TRIAL.
DURING the week that preceded his trial Myles did not care to be seen
on the streets more than he could help. It was very unpleasant to be
recognized and pointed out as the reporter who had robbed a safe, and
to have people turn and stare at him. So he spent most of the time in
his room consulting with his friends or reading and answering the long
letters from home that either his mother or Sister Kate wrote to him
every day. These were of the greatest comfort to him, and more than any
thing else enabled him to bear cheerfully the painful suspense of this
time of waiting.
His case was to be called on Monday, and on Sunday afternoon, feeling a
great desire for exercise and fresh air, Myles went for a long walk up
the side of a mountain, back of the town. He climbed nearly to the top,
and then sat down to enjoy the quiet beauty of the panorama outspread
before him. The maples wore their brilliant autumn dresses and splashed
the landscape with irregular patches of scarlet and gold; in and out
among them wound the gleaming steely blue of a river; white farmhouses
and red barns dotted the fields that stretched back from it, and the
quiet town lay as though asleep at his feet. The whole glowing picture,
bathed in waves of unclouded sunlight, was bordered by a soft blue
frame of dim encircling mountains.
Lulled by the influence of the scene Myles fell into a reverie, from
which he was roused by a rustling in the bushes close beside him.
Before he could move from his position they were parted, and from
them stepped a little boy, hatless, ragged, and barefooted. The child
looked earnestly at the young reporter for a moment, and then, without
a word, thrust a bit of paper into his hand. Almost as he did so he
sprang back into the bushes and disappeared. There was a slight rustle
and all was still as before. Myles curiously unfolded the bit of paper
thus left with him and saw that it contained a few words written with a
lead-pencil. They were:
“Yours received. Will be on hand when wanted. Would have come anyhow
for little Bob’s sake.
“Hastily but gratefully yours, J. A.”
Myles’ plan had worked, and Jacob Allen would appear to testify in his
behalf. The news was too good to keep. He must go at once and tell it
to Captain Ellis and Billings. Hurrying down the narrow pathway Myles
had nearly reached the foot of the mountain, when, without a warning,
he found himself face to face with Ben Watkins. There was a moment of
embarrassed hesitation, and then, moved by a sudden impulse, Myles
exclaimed:
“What is it all for, Ben? Why are you trying to ruin me?”
“I think I should be the one to ask why have you tried to ruin me ever
since we first met,” replied Ben, bitterly.
“I try to ruin you, Ben Watkins!” cried Myles, amazed at the charge.
“Such an idea never entered my head. I tried to save you from yourself
that night we met in your uncle’s office; but I never even wished to
harm you in my life.”
“You didn’t, eh?” sneered Ben. “Who was my rival in the college crew?
Who made me the laughing-stock of all the fellows at New London? Who
took the key to the safe, promising to return it before it should be
called for, and then failed to keep that promise? Who did all these
things if not you, Myles Manning?”
“All that is absurd, Ben, and you know it. Our college rivalry was
an honorable one and could do no harm to either of us. I had nothing
whatever to do with that New London affair, and was as greatly
surprised at the way it turned out as you were. In regard to the safe
business, I own that my taking that key was a mistake. I did it,
though, with the idea of saving you from committing a crime, and I
returned it the moment I learned that your uncle had come back.”
“You returned it too late all the same.”
“Well, I am very sorry, and am willing to make a full explanation of
that affair to your uncle, taking the blame so far as possible upon
myself. But, Ben, you know I never took that money.”
“I don’t know any thing about the money except that it was in the safe
that night. You took the key away and when the safe was next opened it
was gone.”
“Is that the story you are going to swear to to-morrow?”
“I shall swear to the facts,” answered Ben, evasively.
“And supposing your testimony sends me to prison for a crime you know I
never committed?”
“I shall be very sorry, of course, to see an old classmate in such a
fix; but I don’t know what I can do to help it. The law must take its
course.”
“You will live to regret this, Ben. Take my advice: straighten this
matter out while there is yet time and before it goes any further,”
said Myles, earnestly.
“I think the chances are that the regrets will be on your side rather
than on mine, and as for your advice, Mr. Reporter, I have not asked
it, nor do I want it,” replied Ben, roughly.
As he spoke he pushed past Myles and went on his way, while the other
continued on into the town, with a heavy heart.
The day of the trial broke bright and fair. Soon after breakfast the
sheriff called at the hotel for Myles and took him to the court-house.
Billings, in his capacity of reporter, was allowed to accompany his
friend. The case had excited great interest in the town, and long
before the court-room doors were opened they were surrounded by an
eager crowd of would-be spectators. After the judge, jury, lawyers, and
reporters had been admitted by a back door, and were in their places,
the great front-door was thrown open and the crowd rushed in, almost
instantly, occupying every available space.
The court was declared open for business, and the judge announced that
the case for its present consideration was that of the A. & B. Railroad
Company against Myles Manning, and asked if both sides were ready for
trial.
Both Captain Ellis and the counsel for the company answering that they
were, Myles was ordered to stand up. He did so, and the judge, looking
keenly at him through his spectacles, said:
“Myles Manning, you stand accused of robbing the safe in the office of
the division superintendent of the A. & B. Railroad, at this place, of
an express package containing one thousand dollars. What have you to
say to this charge? Are you guilty, or not guilty?”
“Not guilty!” answered Myles in a clear, steady voice, gazing full into
the face of the judge.
“Let the case proceed,” said the latter, settling himself comfortably
back in his big arm-chair.
Myles resumed his seat, and the counsel for the company opened the case
with a brief address to the jury, stating its nature and what he hoped
to prove concerning it.
The first witness called was the landlord of the hotel, who identified
Myles as having registered at his house on the very day that the date
of the express package showed it to have reached Mountain Junction. He
testified that Myles and Ben Watkins were apparently on friendly terms,
and that, during the evening while they were together in the latter’s
room, a quantity of wine was ordered up there. Then he described how,
in the evening of the following day, as Myles was about to go out of
town, he had presented his bill for five dollars, and his guest claimed
to have no money with which to pay it; how he had left his watch as
security; how the next morning he had presented a fifty-dollar bill
to be changed, at the same time ordering him—the landlord—in a most
offensive manner to take his pay out of that and return the watch
immediately. Then he testified to depositing that bill in the bank on
the following Saturday; to the visit of himself, the superintendent,
and Ben Watkins, to the room formerly occupied by Myles—and to the
discovery in it of the empty express envelope beneath the carpet. This
witness was allowed to go without cross-examination.
The next witness called was Lieutenant Easter, who, as befitting the
importance of the occasion, appeared in full uniform, and created no
little merriment by tripping over his dangling sword as he mounted the
stand.
His answers were rambling and incoherent, but his testimony was to
the effect that on the evening of Mr. Manning’s arrival at the hotel
he had joined him and Mr. Watkins in a game of cards in the latter’s
room; that Mr. Manning played recklessly, drank heavily, and lost his
money carelessly, declaring that he knew where to get plenty more, or
words to that effect. He testified to the dropping of the safe-key from
Ben’s pocket, but did not know what he did with it after that. He also
uttered his belief that Myles was in league with the strikers, and had
furnished them with information they could not otherwise have obtained.
Captain Ellis sharply cross-examined this witness, and drew from him
the facts that both he and Ben Watkins had kept perfectly sober on the
evening in question, that they played cards long enough to win all the
money Myles had, and that they then carried him to bed. He was also
forced to acknowledge that he had at different times won large sums of
money from Ben Watkins, whose note for two hundred dollars he held at
one time.
“Do you still hold that note?” asked Captain Ellis.
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Because it has been paid.”
“When was it paid?”
“On the day I left this place, when Mr. Watkins and I were prisoners
together in the hands of the strikers.”
“Why did Mr. Watkins choose that time to redeem his note?”
“He said he was afraid he would be robbed, and he wanted me to share
the risk with him.”
“Did it take all the money he had to pay that note?”
“No, sir.”
“How much did he have left?”
“I don’t know.”
“A hundred dollars?”
“I should think more than that.”
“Did he have five hundred?”
“I should think so.”
“That will do, Mr. Lieutenant. I expect after this disclosure of your
true character you will find it rather difficult to get anybody to play
cards with you again in this vicinity.”
The once pompous but now crestfallen little lieutenant hurriedly took
his seat amid the titters and contemptuous glances of the spectators.
Several bell-boys and servants of the hotel testified to Myles’
condition on the night of his arrival and the morning after, also to
the fact that he had gambled and been a loser.
The telegraph operator was made, very unwillingly, to describe Myles’
agitated manner on the second evening that he was in town, upon his
return from Mr. Watkins’ office. He also testified that Myles had
telegraphed to his paper for money, and had acknowledged himself to be
so short of funds that he had been obliged to leave his watch at the
hotel as security for a two days’ board-bill.
The famous fifty-dollar bill was shown, and the treasurer’s private
mark on it was pointed out to each one of the jury. The division
superintendent identified the mark on the bill as being that of the
treasurer of the road, while the bank cashier identified the bill as
one deposited by the landlord of the hotel.
The examination of these witnesses occupied the entire morning, and
when, at noon, the court took a recess, public opinion had set pretty
strongly against poor Myles, and many persons confidently predicted
that he would serve a term in the penitentiary.
Even Myles himself was greatly depressed by the seeming weight of
testimony against him; but Billings was as cheerful as a cricket.
“Why, my dear boy,” he cried, “the more evidence they pile up the more
fun it will be for us to knock it down! You just wait till the captain
begins to pour in his hot shot; if he don’t make them hunt their
cyclone cellars then I’m a clam, that’s all.”
When court was opened again after the recess, there was a general air
of curiosity and expectation visible on all faces. The most important
witness for the company had not yet been examined, and his testimony
was awaited with eager interest. There was, therefore, quite a little
flutter of excitement noticeable when Ben Watkins was called to the
stand.
He took his place with a defiant air, as though he knew exactly what he
was going to say, and would like to see the man who would get any thing
more or less out of him. Still, when he took the oath to tell “the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” it was observed
that he became very pale, and that his hands trembled. It was but for a
moment, and then he regained a perfect self-control.
The usual questions as to his occupation and duties were asked and
readily answered. Then, how long had he and Mr. Manning been friends?
“We were never friends,” replied Ben.
“But you have been acquainted with him for some time?”
“Yes; we were classmates at X—— College.”
“You greeted him cordially and treated him as a friend upon his arrival
here some two weeks ago?”
“Of course; I was glad to see an old classmate, and tried to make his
stay here as pleasant as possible.”
“You have heard the testimony of Lieutenant Easter in regard to the
events of that first evening. Does your recollection of those events
agree with his?”
“It does.”
“Did the accused become intoxicated upon that occasion?”
“He did.”
“And gamble away his money recklessly?”
“He did.”
“Did he try to borrow money from you the next day?”
“Yes.”
“Did you lend it to him?”
“No; for I knew he would only gamble it away.”
“Did he know that you had the key to your uncle’s safe in your
possession and that you were in the habit of concealing it in your
room!”
“I believe he did.”
“Now, tell us in your own way what happened between you and him on the
following evening.”
“Well, feeling somewhat uneasy about the safety of the railroad
building I went down there late in the evening—about eleven o’clock,
I think. I took a memorandum-book from the safe and was sitting at my
uncle’s desk looking it over, when suddenly Manning entered the office.
He said he wanted a hand-car with which to run to a telegraph station
a few miles out on the road and send a dispatch to his paper. I, of
course, agreed to let him have it, but tried to dissuade him from going
on account of the dangerous nature of the trip.
“While we were talking he stepped behind me, and the first thing I
knew he was looking into the open safe. I told him that was against
the rules, and that I could not allow even him to remain in that
position. He laughed and said, ‘That’s all right,’ but did not move
away. Then I tried to push him a little to one side, so that I could
close the safe-door. He resisted, and we had something very like a
wrestling-match. At last we both fell to the floor, overturning the
table on which the lamp stood as we did so.
“Manning was underneath, and he said, ‘Let me up, Ben; we have carried
this joke far enough.’ I said, ‘All right, I’m glad if it is only a
joke,’ and let him up. When I had re-lighted the lamp Manning left,
saying that he must go to the hotel for something and would meet the
hand-car at the station. Then I restored the office to order, locked
the safe, and went out to see about the car.”
“Do you think any thing was taken from the safe at that time?”
“No; I am certain there was not.”
“What did you do after ordering the hand-car?”
“I made the round of the buildings, caused the arrest of a striker whom
I found lurking near one of them, helped extinguish a fire that broke
out in one of the shops, and then, utterly exhausted, returned to my
room and went to bed.”
“Where was the key of the safe when you last saw it that night?”
“In its usual hiding-place, beneath a pile of clothing in a corner of
one of my bureau drawers.”
“Was the door of your room locked?”
“It was; but the keys to all the rooms are the same.”
“Did Manning occupy a room near yours?”
“His was only three doors away.”
“Did you sleep soundly?”
“I slept like a log until it was nearly time for a train we were about
to run out to start. I had but a few minutes in which to dress and
reach the station.”
“Did you take the key of the safe with you?”
“No; in my hurry I forgot even to look and see if it was still where I
had placed it.”
“When did you first learn that the money was missing?”
“Not until late the next day, when I returned from that trip. Then I
found my uncle in his office. He asked me for the safe key. I went to
my room for it and discovered that it was gone. My uncle had the lock
picked and we found that the package of money that had been in the safe
when I last opened it was also gone.”
Ben Watkins was asked many other questions, all of which he answered
without hesitation, and then he was turned over to Captain Ellis for
cross-examination.
For two hours the captain plied him with questions designed to confuse
him and cause him to contradict himself, but without success. He stuck
to the story that he had already told and could not be made to take
back or alter one word of it.
When asked how he happened to have so much money about him on the
day that he paid Lieutenant Easter’s note he answered that he only
had about three hundred dollars in all; but that it looked like more
because it was in small bills: This money he claimed to have saved from
his salary and to have won at cards.
Thus the case stood when court was adjourned; and by this time there
was hardly one among the spectators who was not fully convinced of
Myles Manning’s guilt.
As for Myles himself, he was utterly bewildered and in despair. If
a witness, under oath, could so deliberately tell falsehood after
falsehood, what chance was there for the truth to prevail? He had to
acknowledge also that even the _true_ facts of the case, as thus far
brought to light, were greatly against him.
The poor fellow was separated from his friends that night and forced
to spend it in a small locked room in the sheriff’s house. It seemed
almost like a prison cell, and this fact, together with the tumult of
his own unhappy thoughts, completely banished sleep. So all night long
he tossed on his narrow bed, longing for the light of the day that was
to decide his fate.