In an upper room was a man sitting at a desk under a reading-lamp. In
front of him was a pile of gold.
“What are you doing?” said Hezekiah.
“I am counting my money,” said the man.
“What are you?” asked Hezekiah sternly.
“I am a philanthropist,” said the man. “I give my money to deserving
objects. I establish medals for heroes. I give prizes for ship captains
who jump into the sea, and for firemen who throw people from the
windows of upper stories at the risk of their own; I send American
missionaries to China, Chinese missionaries to India, and Indian
missionaries to Chicago. I set aside money to keep college professors
from starving to death when they deserve it.”
“Stop!” said Hezekiah, “you deserve to die. Stand up. Open your mouth
and shut your eyes.”
The old man stood up.
There was a loud report. The philanthropist fell. He was shot through
the waistcoat and his suspenders were cut to ribbons.
Hezekiah, his eyes glittering with the mania of crime, crammed his
pockets with gold pieces.
There was a roar and hubbub in the street below.
“The police!” Hezekiah muttered. “I must set fire to the house and
escape in the confusion.”
He struck a safety match and held it to the leg of the table.
It was a fireproof table and refused to burn. He held it to the door.
The door was fireproof. He applied it to the bookcase. He ran the match
along the books. They were all fireproof. Everything was fireproof.
Frenzied with rage, he tore off his celluloid collar and set fire to
it. He waved it above his head. Great tongues of flame swept from the
windows.
“Fire! Fire!” was the cry.
Hezekiah rushed to the door and threw the blazing collar down the
elevator shaft. In a moment the iron elevator, with its steel ropes,
burst into a mass of flame; then the brass fittings of the door took
fire, and in a moment the cement floor of the elevator was one roaring
mass of flame. Great columns of smoke burst from the building.
“Fire! Fire!” shouted the crowd.
Reader, have you ever seen a fire in a great city? The sight is a
wondrous one. One realises that, vast and horrible as the city is, it
nevertheless shows its human organisation in its most perfect form.
Scarcely had the fire broken out before resolute efforts were made to
stay its progress. Long lines of men passed buckets of water from hand
to hand.
The water was dashed on the fronts of the neighbouring houses, thrown
all over the street, splashed against the telegraph poles, and poured
in torrents over the excited crowd. Every place in the neighbourhood of
the fire was literally soaked. The man worked with a will. A derrick
rapidly erected in the street reared itself to the height of sixteen or
seventeen feet. A daring man mounted on the top of it, hauled bucket
after bucket of water on the pulley. Balancing himself with the cool
daring of the trained fireman, he threw the water in all directions
over the crowd.
The fire raged for an hour. Hezekiah, standing at an empty window amid
the flames, rapidly filled his revolver and emptied it into the crowd.
From one hundred revolvers in the street a fusillade was kept up in
return.
This lasted for an hour. Several persons were almost hit by the rain of
bullets, which would have proved fatal had they struck anyone.
Meantime, as the flames died down, a squad of policemen rushed into the
doomed building.
Hezekiah threw aside his revolver and received them with folded arms.
“Hayloft,” said the chief of police, “I arrest you for murder,
burglary, arson, and conspiracy. You put up a splendid fight, old man,
and I am only sorry that it is our painful duty to arrest you.”
As Hayloft appeared below a great cheer went up from the crowd. True
courage always appeals to the heart of the people.
Hayloft was put in a motor and whirled rapidly to the police station.
On the way the chief handed him a flask and a cigar.
They chatted over the events of the evening.
Hayloft realised that a new life had opened for him. He was no longer a
despised outcast. He had entered the American criminal class.
At the police station the chief showed Hezekiah to his room.
“I hope you will like this room,” he said a little anxiously. “It is
the best that I can give you to-night. To-morrow I can give you a room
with a bath, but at such short notice I am sure you will not mind
putting up with this.”
He said good night and shut the door. In a moment he reappeared.
“About breakfast?” he said. “Would you rather have it in your room, or
will you join us at our table d’hote? The force are most anxious to
meet you.”
Next morning, before Hezekiah was up, the chief brought to his room a
new outfit of clothes—a silk hat, frock-coat, shepherd’s-plaid trousers
and varnished boots with spats.
“You won’t mind accepting these things, Mr. Hayloft. Our force would
like very much to enable you to make a suitable appearance in the
court.”
Carefully dressed and shaved, Hezekiah descended. He was introduced to
the leading officials of the force, and spent a pleasant hour of chat
over a cigar, discussing the incidents of the night before.
In the course of the morning a number of persons called to meet and
congratulate Hezekiah.
“I want to tell you, sir,” said the editor of a great American daily,
“that your work of last night will be known and commented on all over
the States. Your shooting of the footman was a splendid piece of nerve,
sir, and will do much in defence of the unwritten law.”
“Mr. Hayloft,” said another caller, “I am sorry not to have met you
sooner. Our friends here tell me that you have been in New York for
some months. I regret, sir, that we did not know you. This is the name
of my firm, Mr. Hayloft. We are leading lawyers here, and we want the
honour of defending you. We may! Thank you, sir. And now, as we have
still an hour or two before the court, I want to run you up to my house
in my motor. My wife is very anxious to have a little luncheon with
you.”
The court met that afternoon. There was a cheer as Hezekiah entered.
“Mr. Hayloft,” said the judge, “I am adjourning this court for a few
days. From what I hear the nerve strain that you have undergone must
have been most severe. Your friends tell me that you can hardly be in a
state to take a proper interest in the case till you have had a
thorough rest.”
As Hayloft left the court a cheer went up from the crowd, in which the
judge joined.
The next few days were busy days for Hezekiah. Filled with receptions,
civic committees, and the preparation of the brief, in which Hezekiah’s
native intelligence excited the admiration of the lawyers.
Newspaper men sought for interviews. Business promoters called upon
Hezekiah. His name was put down as a director of several leading
companies, and it was rumoured that in the event of his acquittal he
would undertake a merger of all the great burglar protection
corporations of the United States.
The trial opened a week later, and lasted two months. Hezekiah was
indicted on five charges—arson, for having burned the steel cage of the
elevator; misdemeanour, for shooting the footman; the theft of the
money, petty larceny; the killing of the philanthropist, infanticide;
and the shooting at the police without hitting them, aggravated felony.
The proceedings were very complicated—expert evidence was taken from
all over the United States. An analytical examination was made of the
brain of the philanthropist. Nothing was found.
The entire jury were dismissed three times on the grounds of prejudice,
twice on the ground of ignorance, and finally disbanded on the ground
of insanity.
The proceedings dragged on.
Meanwhile Hezekiah’s business interests accumulated.
At length, at Hezekiah’s own suggestion, it was necessary to abandon
the case.
“Gentlemen,” he said, in his final speech to the court, “I feel that I
owe an apology for not being able to attend these proceedings any
further. At any time, when I can snatch an hour or two from my
business, you may always count on my attendance. In the meantime, rest
assured that I shall follow your proceedings with the greatest
interest.”
He left the room amid three cheers and the singing of “Auld Lang Syne.”
After that the case dragged hopeless on from stage to stage.
The charge of arson was met by a _nolle prosequi_. The accusation of
theft was stopped by a _ne plus ultra_. The killing of the footman was
pronounced justifiable insanity.
The accusation of murder for the death of the philanthropist was
withdrawn by common consent. Damages in error were awarded to Hayloft
for the loss of his revolver and cartridges. The main body of the case
was carried on a writ of _certiorari_ to the Federal Courts and
appealed to the Supreme Court of the United States.
It is there still.
Meantime, Hezekiah, as managing director of the Burglars’ Security
Corporation, remains one of the rising generation of financiers in New
York, with every prospect of election to the State Senate.
VI.
Sorrows of a Super Soul:
or, The Memoirs of Marie Mushenough
_(Translated, by Machinery, out of the Original Russian.)_
Do you ever look at your face in the glass?