PRISONERS AT THE BAR
Johnny will never know what that next brief trial was about. It had
struck him all of a sudden that he was to play a part in the trial that
was to follow. This thought set his blood racing. He was glad not to be
the defendant. But as a witness his responsibility was great. For the
first time in his life he was to utter words that would without doubt
send a fellow human being to jail. The thought was not pleasing.
"And yet it's my plain duty," he told himself. He found much consolation
in that.
A fresh turn of his mind for the moment crowded out all other thought.
Who had beaten him up the night before? Was it some pal of these
pickpockets? Would he be able to tell from the expressions on their faces
when they saw him? His head was heavily bandaged. "They could not help
but notice that. Perhaps they believe that their confederate made a
thorough job of it," he told himself. "They may not expect to see me here
at all."
"Ah! Now's the time!" he whispered to himself. His name was being called.
So, too, were the names of the two pickpockets and Drew Lane.
"Here they come." He caught his breath and half rose from his chair. As
he did so, one of the two prisoners coming down the aisle caught sight of
him. It was the larger of the pickpockets. For ten seconds he stood there
motionless, one foot poised in midair. Then his face spread in a broad
grin, and he marched on up to the bar.
That grin puzzled the boy. "Wouldn't grin if he hadn't expected to see
me," he reasoned. "But why the grin at all?"
There was no further time for such thoughts. He was at the bar, between a
police officer and a pickpocket. His right hand was in the air. He was
being sworn to "tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth, so help me, God."
It struck him all of a sudden that some witnesses these days truly needed
Divine help if they told the whole truth. He felt his bandaged head, and
resolved to honor his oath, come what might; not only now, but always.
The judge went through with the usual formalities. The prisoners were
charged with the theft of a purse. Guilty, or not guilty? A hook-nosed
lawyer had advised a plea of guilty.
"And do you wish to be tried by this court?"
"Yes, your Honor."
The prisoners were warned of the possible outcome. Did they still wish to
plead guilty? They did.
The trial began. Johnny was asked to tell his story. This he did in a
straightforward manner, in spite of numerous interruptions from the
lawyer for the defence. He neglected no detail of the little drama that
was played by Drew and Howe, two pickpockets and himself on that fateful
June day.
"Is that true?" The judge leaned forward to glower at the older of the
two prisoners.
"Yes, your Honor. But, your Honor, it's the police. They--"
"Just a moment," the judge cut him short. "I asked you a question. You
say this young man has told the truth? Very well.
"Now you tell us what you know." He nodded to Drew Lane.
Drew said that he and his fellow detective, Howe, had been riding that
car line for three days, because there had been several losses by surface
line riders along that line.
"When we saw these two birds," he went on, "we knew we had our men. We--"
"You knew them?" the judge interrupted.
"It's our business to know them. We know more than three hundred
pickpockets by sight."
"You're too darn smart!" snarled the slighter of the two prisoners.
The bailiff rapped for order.
"Have these men a record?" the judge asked.
Drew Lane passed up two sheets of paper.
The judge studied these with a gathering scowl. Then his face lighted as
he looked at Drew Lane.
"Bad ones. That right?"
Drew nodded.
"Go on. Tell us what happened."
"We saw them take this boy's pocketbook. They saw us and made a break for
it. We nabbed them. That's all. What this boy told you is true, as far as
we saw it."
"It must be," agreed the judge. "They don't even deny it.
"What have you got to say?" He turned a poker face toward the prisoners.
The larger one answered, "It's the police, Judge, and the detectives. I
was goin' to tell you, Judge. They won't leave us alone. We been out of
the jug six months. Been goin' straight."
"Call picking pockets going straight?" the judge flashed.
"We wouldn't have done it, Judge, only them college boy detectives made
us."
He glared at Drew Lane.
"Your Honor," a flicker of a smile hovered about Drew Lane's mouth, "I
object to being called a college kid. I've been out of college four
years, and been in the service all that time."
"I wouldn't," the judge leaned forward and pretended to whisper, "I
wouldn't object at all if I were you. It's your greatest asset. They
don't know you're a detective, these fellows, and when they do they don't
take you seriously. That right?" He winked at the older pickpocket.
"That was it, Judge. You see, Judge," the man went on, encouraged by the
judge's disarming smile, "I knew this boy was a detective. I--I'd see him
before, and I says to Jimmy, me pal here, I says, just whispers, y'
understand, 'Jimmy,' I says, 'it would be great sport to grab that
country boy's wad right before this college boy detective's eyes.' We
done it for sport, Judge, honest we did." The prisoner essayed a laugh,
which turned out number one common, and scarcely that.
"I see," said the judge, leaning back in his chair and appearing to think
deeply. "You stole a hundred dollars from an innocent boy as a joke on a
boy detective? You were getting off the car, weren't you?"
"Yes, your Honor."
"And the boy was getting off to go another way. How did you expect to get
his money back to him? How did you mean to explain his loss to him?"
"Your Honor, we--"
"Ah no! You didn't do it as a joke!" The judge leaned far forward. There
was a glint of fire in his eye. The smile had faded from his face as a
field of sunshine is blotted out by dark October clouds. "You meant to
steal that boy's pocketbook. These records show that.
"It didn't matter to you that this boy might be left penniless in a
strange city. If it had been a poor shop-girl with two weeks' pay in her
purse, the price of a well earned week's vacation, you'd have done it
too. It wouldn't have meant anything to you if it had been a scrub-woman.
If the money had been earned by eight hours of scrubbing six days a week,
you'd have taken it just the same.
"You don't want to go straight. You want to be pickpockets. That's the
only occupation you have. It's the only one you'll ever have, except when
you're in jail. And that's where you'll be for some time.
"Six months. Take them away."
The deputies led the prisoners down the aisle. Johnny followed Drew out
into the bright sunshine of a beautiful June morning.
"So that's the way they do it?" Johnny said breathlessly.
"It's the way they do it sometimes," replied Drew.
"You see," he went on to explain, "you are a transient witness. You are
here now. But if we needed you to appear before a jury as a witness in
this case four months from now, would you be in Chicago?"
"Four months is a long time."
"Sure it is. Ordinarily those fellows would have gone before a grand jury
and been held over to the higher courts. They'd been tried by a jury and
got three or four years; that is, if you were present. But the judge,
knowing you were likely to leave the city, made the best of things and
tried them for larceny. He gave them all he could, under the
circumstances. They are out of the way for a while at least.
"Well, that's that!" Drew said a moment later. "Thanks a heap. You made
our case for us. You helped us; now it's up to us to help you find the
fellow who battered up your head. Herman McCarthey is in the station now.
Let's go back and see what he's uncovered."
Retracing their steps, they walked once more into the lobby of the police
station and waited for an up-bound elevator.