George Stratton sat in the court-room for a moment dazed, before he
thought of the principal figure in the trial; then he rose to go to her
side, but he found that Roland was there before him. He heard her say,
"Get me a carriage quickly, and take me away from here."
So Stratton went back to his hotel to meet his Chicago detective. The
latter had nothing to report. He told him the number of drug stores he
had visited, but all without avail. No one had recognized the portrait.
"All right," said Stratton; "then you will just have to go ahead until
you find somebody who does. It is, I believe, only a question of time
and perseverance."
Next morning he arose late. He looked over the report of the trial in
the morning paper, and then, turning to the leader page, read with
rising indignation the following editorial:--
"THE BRENTON CASE.
"The decision of yesterday shows the glorious uncertainty that attends
the finding of the average American jury. If such verdicts are to be
rendered, we may as well blot out from the statute-book all punishment
for all crimes in which the evidence is largely circumstantial. If ever
a strong case was made out against a human being it was the case of the
prosecution in the recent trial. If ever there was a case in which the
defence was deplorably weak, although ably conducted, it was the case
that was concluded yesterday. Should we, then, be prepared to say that
circumstantial evidence will not be taken by an American jury as ground
for the conviction of a murderer? The chances are that, if we draw this
conclusion, we shall be entirely wrong. If a man stood in the dock, in
the place of the handsome young woman who occupied it yesterday, he
would to-day have been undoubtedly convicted of murder. The conclusion,
then, to be arrived at seems to be that, unless there is the direct
proof of murder against a pretty woman, it is absolutely impossible
to get the average jury of men to convict her. It would seem that the
sooner we get women on juries, especially where a woman is on trial, the
better it will be for the cause of justice."
Then in other parts of the paper there were little items similar to this--
"If Mrs. Brenton did not poison her husband, then who did?"
That afternoon George Stratton paid a visit to Mrs. Brenton. He had
hoped she had not seen the paper in question, but he hoped in vain. He
found Mrs. Brenton far from elated with her acquittal.
"I would give everything I possess," she said, "to bring the culprit to
justice."
After a talk on that momentous question, and when George Stratton held
her hand and said good-bye, she asked him--
"When do you go to Chicago?"
"Madam," he said, "I leave for Chicago the moment I find out who
poisoned William Brenton."
She answered sadly--
"You may remain a long time in Cincinnati."
"In some respects," said Stratton, "I like Cincinnati better than
Chicago."
"You are the first Chicago man I ever heard say that," she replied.
"Ah, that was because they did not know Cincinnati as I do."
"I suppose you must have seen a great deal of the town, but I must
confess that from now on I should be very glad if I never saw Cincinnati
again. I would like to consult with you," she continued, "about the best
way of solving this mystery. I have been thinking of engaging some of
the best detectives I can get. I suppose New York would be the place."
"No; Chicago," answered the young man.
"Well, then, that is what I wanted to see you about. I would like to get
the very best detectives that can be had. Don't you think that, if they
were promised ample reward, and paid well during the time they were
working on the case, we might discover the key to this mystery?"
"I do not think much of our detective system," answered Stratton,
"although I suppose there is something in it, and sometimes they manage
in spite of themselves to stumble on the solution of a crime. Still, I
shall be very glad indeed to give you what advice I can on the subject.
I may say I have constituted myself a special detective in this case,
and that I hope to have the honour of solving the problem."
"You are very good, indeed," she answered, "and I must ask you to let me
bear the expense."
"Oh, the paper will do that. I won't be out of pocket at all," said
Stratton.
"Well, I hardly know how to put it; but, whether you are successful or
not, I feel very grateful to you, and I hope you will not be offended at
what I am going to say. Now, promise me that you won't!"
"I shall not be offended," he answered. "It is a little difficult to
offend a Chicago newspaper man, you know."
"Now, you mustn't say anything against the newspaper men, for, in spite
of the hard things that some of them have said about me, I like them."
"Individually or collectively?"
[Illustration: "I feel very grateful to you."]
"I am afraid I must say individually. You said you wouldn't be offended,
so after your search is over you must let me----. The labourer is worthy
of his hire, or I should say, his reward--you know what I mean. I presume
that a young man who earns his living on the daily press is not
necessarily wealthy."
"Why, Mrs. Brenton, what strange ideas you have of the world! We
newspaper men work at the business merely because we like it. It isn't
at all for the money that's in it."
"Then you are not offended at what I have said?"
"Oh, not in the least. I may say, however, that I look for a higher
reward than money if I am successful in this search."
"Yes, I am sure you do," answered the lady, innocently. "If you
succeed in this, you will be very famous."
"Exactly; it's fame I'm after," said Stratton, shaking her hand once
more, and taking his leave.
When he reached his hotel, he found the Chicago detective waiting for
him.
"Well, old man," he said, "anything new?"
"Yes, sir. Something very new."
"What have you found out?"
"Everything."
"Very well, let me have it."
"I found out that this man bought, on December 10th, thirty grains of
morphia. He had this morphia put up in five-grain capsules. He bought
this at the drug store on the corner of Blank Street and Nemo Avenue."
"Good gracious!" answered Stratton. "Then to get morphia he must have
had a physician's certificate. Did you find who the physician was that
signed the certificate?"
"My dear sir," said the Chicago man, "this person is himself a
physician, unless I am very much mistaken. I was told that this was the
portrait of Stephen Roland. Am I right?"
"That is the name."
"Well, then, he is a doctor himself. Not doing a very large practice, it
is true, but he is a physician. Did you not know that?"
[Illustration: "Here's the detailed report."]
"No," said Stratton; "how stupid I am! I never thought of asking the
man's occupation."
"Very well, if that is what you wanted to know, here's the detailed
report of my investigation."
When the man left, Stratton rubbed his hands.
"Now, Mr. Stephen Roland, I have you," he said.