For a moment Brenton was so bewildered and amazed at the awful headlines
which he read, that he could hardly realize what had taken place.
The fact that he had been poisoned, although it gave him a strange
sensation, did not claim his attention as much as might have been
thought. Curiously enough he was more shocked at finding himself, as
it were, the talk of the town, the central figure of a great newspaper
sensation. But the thing that horrified him was the fact that his wife
had been arrested for his murder. His first impulse was to go to her at
once, but he next thought it better to read what the paper said about
the matter, so as to become possessed of all the facts. The headlines,
he said to himself, often exaggerated things, and there was a
possibility that the body of the article would not bear out the naming
announcement above it. But as he read on and on, the situation seemed
to become more and more appalling. He saw that his friends had been
suspicious of his sudden death, and had insisted on a post-mortem
examination. That examination had been conducted by three of the most
eminent physicians of Cincinnati, and the three doctors had practically
agreed that the deceased, in the language of the verdict, had come to
his death through morphia poisoning, and the coroner's jury had brought
in a verdict that "the said William Brenton had been poisoned by some
person unknown." Then the article went on to state how suspicion had
gradually fastened itself upon his wife, and at last her arrest had been
ordered. The arrest had taken place that day.
[Illustration: Mrs. Brenton.]
After reading this, Brenton was in an agony of mind. He pictured his
dainty and beautiful wife in a stone cell in the city prison. He foresaw
the horrors of the public trial, and the deep grief and pain which
the newspaper comments on the case would cause to a woman educated and
refined. Of course, Brenton had not the slightest doubt in his own mind
about the result of the trial. His wife would be triumphantly acquitted;
but, all the same, the terrible suspense which she must suffer in the
meanwhile would not be compensated for by the final verdict of the jury.
Brenton at once went to the jail, and wandered through that gloomy
building, searching for his wife. At last he found her, but it was in
a very comfortable room in the sheriffs residence. The terror and the
trials of the last few days had aged her perceptibly, and it cut Brenton
to the heart to think that he stood there before her, and could not by
any means say a soothing word that she would understand. That she had
wept many bitter tears since the terrible Christmas morning was evident;
there were dark circles under her beautiful eyes that told of sleepless
nights. She sat in a comfortable armchair, facing the window; and looked
steadily out at the dreary winter scene with eyes that apparently saw
nothing. Her hands lay idly on her lap, and now and then she caught her
breath in a way that was half a sob and half a gasp.
Presently the sheriff himself entered the room.
"Mrs. Brenton," he said, "there is a gentleman here who wishes to see
you. Mr. Roland, he tells me his name is, an old friend of yours. Do you
care to see any one?"
The lady turned her head slowly round, and looked at the sheriff for a
moment, seemingly not understanding what he said. Finally she answered,
dreamily--
"Roland? Oh, Stephen! Yes, I shall be very glad to see him. Ask him to
come in, please."
The next moment Stephen Roland entered, and somehow the fact that he had
come to console Mrs. Brenton did not at all please the invisible man who
stood between them.
"My dear Mrs. Brenton," began Roland, "I hope you are feeling better
to-day? Keep up your courage, and be brave. It is only for a very short
time. I have retained the noted criminal lawyers, Benham and Brown, for
the defence. You could not possibly have better men."
At the word "criminal" Mrs. Brenton shuddered.
"Alice," continued Roland, sitting down near her, and drawing his chair
closer to her, "tell me that you will not lose your courage. I want you
to be brave, for the sake of your friends."
He took her listless hand in his own, and she did not withdraw it.
Brenton felt passing over him the pangs of impotent rage, as he saw this
act on the part of Roland.
Roland had been an unsuccessful suitor for the hand which he now held
in his own, and Brenton thought it the worst possible taste, to say the
least, that he should take advantage now of her terrible situation to
ingratiate himself into her favour.
The nearest approach to a quarrel that Brenton and his wife had had
during their short six months of wedded life was on the subject of the
man who now held her hand in his own. It made Brenton impatient to think
that a woman with all her boasted insight into character, her instincts
as to what was right and what was wrong, had such little real intuition
that she did not see into the character of the man whom they were
discussing; but a woman never thinks it a crime for a man to have been
in love with her, whatever opinion of that man her husband may hold.
"It is awful! awful! awful!" murmured the poor lady, as the tears again
rose to her eyes.
"Of course it is," said Roland; "it is particularly awful that they
should accuse you, of all persons in the world, of this so-called crime.
For my part I do not believe that he was poisoned at all, but we will
soon straighten things out. Benham and Brown will give up everything
and devote their whole attention to this case until it is finished.
Everything will be done that money or friends can do, and all that we
ask is that you keep up your courage, and do not be downcast with the
seeming awfulness of the situation."
Mrs. Brenton wept silently, but made no reply. It was evident, however,
that she was consoled by the words and the presence of her visitor.
Strange as it may appear, this fact enraged Brenton, although he had
gone there for the very purpose of cheering and comforting his wife. All
the bitterness he had felt before against his former rival was revived,
and his rage was the more agonizing because it was inarticulate. Then
there flashed over him Ferris's sinister advice to leave things alone in
the world that he had left. He felt that he could stand this no longer,
and the next instant he found himself again in the wintry streets of
Cincinnati.
The name of the lawyers, Benham and Brown, kept repeating itself in his
mind, and he resolved to go to their office and hear, if he could, what
preparations were being made for the defence of a woman whom he knew to
be innocent. He found, when he got to the office of these noted lawyers,
that the two principals were locked in their private room; and going
there, he found them discussing the case with the coolness and
impersonal feeling that noted lawyers have even when speaking of issues
that involve life or death.
"Yes," Benham was saying, "I think that, unless anything new turns up,
that is the best line of defence we can adopt."
"What do you think might turn up?" asked Brown.
"Well, you can never tell in these cases. They may find something
else--they may find the poison, for instance, or the package that
contained it. Perhaps a druggist will remember having sold it to this
woman, and then, of course, we shall have to change our plans. I need
not say that it is strictly necessary in this case to give out no
opinions whatever to newspaper men. The papers will be full of rumours,
and it is just as well if we can keep our line of defence hidden until
the time for action comes."
"Still," said Brown, who was the younger partner, "it is as well to keep
in with the newspaper fellows; they'll be here as soon as they find we
have taken charge of the defence."
"Well, I have no doubt you can deal with them in such a way as to give
them something to write up, and yet not disclose anything we do not wish
known."
"I think you can trust me to do that," said Brown, with a self-satisfied
air.
"I shall leave that part of the matter entirely in your hands," replied
Benham. "It is better not to duplicate or mix matters, and if any
newspaper man comes to see me I will refer him to you. I will say I know
nothing of the case whatever."
"Very well," answered Brown. "Now, between ourselves, what do you think
of the case?"
[Illustration]
"Oh, it will make a great sensation. I think it will probably be one of
the most talked-of cases that we have ever been connected with."
"Yes, but what do you think of her guilt or innocence?"
"As to that," said Benham, calmly, "I haven't the slightest doubt. She
murdered him."
As he said this, Brenton, forgetting himself for a moment, sprang
forward as if to strangle the lawyer. The statement Benham had made
seemed the most appalling piece of treachery. That men should take a
woman's money for defending her, and actually engage in a case when they
believed their client guilty, appeared to Brenton simply infamous.
"I agree with you," said Brown. "Of course she was the only one to
benefit by his death. The simple fool willed everything to her, and she
knew it; and his doing so is the more astounding when you remember he
was quite well aware that she had a former lover whom she would gladly
have married if he had been as rich as Brenton. The supreme idiocy of
some men as far as their wives are concerned is something awful."
[Illustration: Publicity.]
"Yes," answered Benham, "it is. But I tell you, Brown, she is no
ordinary woman. The very conception of that murder had a stroke of
originality about it that I very much admire. I do not remember anything
like it in the annals of crime. It is the true way in which a murder
should be committed. The very publicity of the occasion was a safeguard.
Think of poisoning a man at a dinner that he has given himself, in the
midst of a score of friends. I tell you that there was a dash of bravery
about it that commands my admiration."
"Do you imagine Roland had anything to do with it?"
"Well, I had my doubts about that at first, but I think he is innocent,
although from what I know of the man he will not hesitate to share the
proceeds of the crime. You mark my words, they will be married within
a year from now if she is acquitted. I believe Roland knows her to be
guilty."
"I thought as much," said Brown, "by his actions here, and by some
remarks he let drop. Anyhow, our credit in the affair will be all the
greater if we succeed in getting her off. Yes," he continued, rising and
pushing back his chair, "Madam Brenton is a murderess."