It was evident to George Stratton that he would have no time before
the trial came off in which to prove Stephen Roland the guilty person.
Besides this, he was in a strange state of mind which he himself could
not understand. The moment he sat down to think out a plan by which
he could run down the man he was confident had committed the crime, a
strange wavering of mind came over him. Something seemed to say to him
that he was on the wrong track. This became so persistent that George
was bewildered, and seriously questioned his own sanity. Whenever he sat
alone in his own room, the doubts arose and a feeling that he was on the
wrong scent took possession of him. This feeling became so strong at
times that he looked up other clues, and at one time tried to find
out the whereabouts of the servant girls who had been employed by the
Brentons. Curiously enough, the moment he began this search, his mind
seemed to become clearer and easier; and when that happened, the old
belief in the guilt of Stephen Roland resumed its sway again. But the
instant he tried to follow up what clues he had in that direction, he
found himself baffled and assailed again by doubts, and so every effort
he put forth appeared to be nullified. This state of mind was so unusual
with him that he had serious thoughts of abandoning the whole case and
going back to Chicago. He said to himself, "I am in love with this woman
and I shall go crazy if I stay here any longer." Then he remembered the
trust she appeared to have in his powers of ferreting out the mystery of
the case, and this in turn encouraged him and urged him on.
All trace of the girls appeared to be lost. He hesitated to employ a
Cincinnati detective, fearing that what he discovered would be given
away to the Cincinnati press. Then he accused himself of disloyalty to
Mrs. Brenton, in putting his newspaper duty before his duty to her.
He was so torn by his conflicting ideas and emotions that at last he
resolved to abandon the case altogether and return to Chicago. He packed
up his valise and resolved to leave that night for big city, trial or no
trial. He had described his symptoms to a prominent physician, and that
physician told him that the case was driving him mad, and the best thing
he could do was to leave at once for other scenes. He could do no good,
and would perhaps end by going insane himself.
As George Stratton was packing his valise in his room, alone, as he
thought, the following conversation was taking place beside him.
"It is no use," said Speed; "we are merely muddling him, and not doing
any good. The only thing is to leave him alone. If he investigates the
Roland part of the case he will soon find out for himself that he is on
the wrong track; then he will take the right one."
"Yes," said Brenton; "but the case comes on in a few days. If anything
is to be done, it must be done now."
"In that I do not agree with you," said Speed. "Perhaps everything will
go all right at the trial, but even if it does not, there is still
a certain amount of time. You see how we have spoiled things by
interfering. Our first success with him has misled us. We thought we
could do anything; we have really done worse than nothing, because all
this valuable time has been lost. If he had been allowed to proceed in
his own way he would have ferreted out the matter as far as Stephen
Roland is concerned, and would have found that there was no cause for
his suspicion. As it is he has done nothing. He still believes, if left
alone, that Stephen Roland is the criminal. All our efforts to lead him
to the residence of Jane Morton have been unavailing. Now, you see, he
is on the eve of going back to Chicago."
"Well, then, let him go," said Brenton, despondently.
"With all my heart, say I," answered Speed; "but in any case let us
leave him alone."
Before the train started that night Stratton said to himself that he was
a new man. Richard was himself again. He was thoroughly convinced of the
guilt of Stephen Roland, and wondered why he had allowed his mind to
wander off the topic and waste time with other suspicions, for which
he now saw there was no real excuse. He had not the time, he felt, to
investigate the subject personally, but he flattered himself he knew
exactly the man to put on Roland's track, and, instead of going himself
to Chicago, he sent off the following despatch:--
"Meet me to-morrow morning, without fail, at the Gibson House. Answer."
Before midnight he had his answer, and next morning he met a man in whom
he had the most implicit confidence, and who had, as he said, the rare
and valuable gift of keeping his mouth shut.
"You see this portrait?" Stratton said, handing to the other a
photograph of Stephen Roland. "Now, I do not know how many hundred
chemist shops there are in Cincinnati, but I want you to get a list of
them, and you must not omit the most obscure shop in town. I want you to
visit every drug store there is in the city, show this photograph to the
proprietor and the clerks, and find out if that man bought any chemicals
during the week or two preceding Christmas. Find out what drugs he
bought, and where he bought them, then bring the information to me."
"How much time do you give me on this, Mr. Stratton?" was the question.
"Whatever time you want. I wish the thing done thoroughly and
completely, and, as you know, silence is golden in a case like this."
[Illustration: "How much time do you give me?"]
"Enough said," replied the other, and, buttoning the photograph in his
inside pocket, he left the room.
* * * * *
There is no necessity of giving an elaborate report of the trial. Any
one who has curiosity in the matter can find the full particulars from
the files of any paper in the country. Mrs. Brenton was very pale as she
sat in the prisoner's dock, but George Stratton thought he never saw any
one look so beautiful. It seemed to him that any man in that crowded
courtroom could tell in a moment that she was not guilty of the crime
with which she was charged, and he looked at the jury of twelve
supposedly good men, and wondered what they thought of it.
[Illustration: In the prisoner's dock.]
The defence claimed that it was not their place to show who committed
the murder. That rested with the prosecution. The prosecution, Mr.
Benham maintained, had signally failed to do this. However, in order to
aid the prosecution, he was quite willing to show how Mr. Brenton came
to his death. Then witnesses were called, who, to the astonishment of
Mrs. Brenton, testified that her husband had all along had a tendency to
insanity. It was proved conclusively that some of his ancestors had died
in a lunatic asylum, and one was stated to have committed suicide. The
defence produced certain books from Mr. Brenton's library, among them
Forbes Winslow's volume on "The Mind and the Brain," to show that
Brenton had studied the subject of suicide.
The judge's charge was very colourless. It amounted simply to this:
If the jury thought the prosecution had shown Mrs. Brenton to have
committed the crime, they were to bring in a verdict of guilty, and if
they thought otherwise they were to acquit her; and so the jury retired.
As they left the court-room a certain gloom fell upon all those who were
friendly to the fair prisoner.
Despite the great reputation of Benham and Brown, it was the thought
of every one present that they had made a very poor defence. The
prosecution, on the other hand, had been most ably conducted. It had
been shown that Mrs. Brenton was chiefly to profit by her husband's
death. The insurance fund alone would add seventy-five thousand dollars
to the money she would control. A number of little points that Stratton
had given no heed to had been magnified, and appeared then to have a
great bearing on the case. For the first time, Stratton admitted
to himself that the prosecution had made out a very strong case of
circumstantial evidence. The defence, too, had been so deplorably weak
that it added really to the strength of the prosecution. A great speech
had been expected of Benham, but he did not rise to the occasion, and,
as one who knew him said, Benham evidently believed his client guilty.
As the jury retired, every one in the court-room felt that there was
little hope for the prisoner; and this feeling was intensified when, a
few moments after, the announcement was made in court, just as the
judge was preparing to leave the bench, that the jury had agreed on the
verdict.
Stratton, in the stillness of the court-room, heard one lawyer whisper
to another, "She's doomed."
There was intense silence as the jury slowly filed into their places,
and the foreman stood up.
"Gentlemen of the jury," was the question, "have you agreed upon a
verdict?"
"We have," answered the foreman.
"Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?"
"Not guilty," was the clear answer.
At this there was first a moment of silence, and then a ripple of
applause, promptly checked.
Mrs. Brenton was free.