WEATHERVANES VEER.
"Do you know Ellen Greeley?"
"I did know her slightly."
"Never corresponded with her?"
"Oh, no."
"You have a key to your own house, I suppose?"
"Certainly."
"And can slip out and in unobserved?"
"If I choose to."
"Which door do you generally use going into your uncle's house?"
"The front door always."
"And in coming out?"
"The same."
"You knew, however, that there was a side door opening into the
passageway?"
"Yes."
"How long are you back from Lenox?"
"Two weeks."
"Do you remember an evening entertainment there at Mr. March's?"
"The purple tea? Yes, sir."
"Do you remember falling into a species of trance on that occasion?"
"Perfectly."
"Do you remember what was on your right hand when you awoke?"
The witness drew a deep breath before he answered. He no longer had the
heart to look toward Rosalie, though her eyes were turned with stony
fixity upon his face and she had even lifted her veil.
Shagarach's manner was now as imperious, as fierce, as on that memorable
evening.
"Yes," answered Harry; "it was a lemon-colored glove."
"Whose glove?"
"Mine."
"A lost glove?"
"Yes."
"A right-hand glove?"
"Yes."
"Where had you lost it?"
Harry hesitated.
"Will you look about the room and tell me if you see any person besides
your mother whom you saw on that Saturday afternoon of the fire?"
Walter Riley had recovered by this time from Kennedy's caning and
occupied a front seat among the spectators. But it was Rosalie's eye
that Harry met--met and hastily avoided. Had she seen him after all that
afternoon when he crossed Bond street from the burning house? Would this
remorseless inquisitor contradict his denial with the affirmation of the
woman he loved?
"Wasn't it you instead of Floyd who paid a cash fare to Conductor
Checkerberry on the 3:29 train and whose voice he recognized here
yesterday?"
"Yes," said Harry, "it was."
"Then you had heard of the fire before Sunday morning?"
"I had."
"And you lied again when you testified to the contrary?"
"I am sick of lying. Let me tell you the truth."
"It is the truth I am searching for."
"You have tripped and tangled me," said Harry, speaking slowly, "so that
my actions when I make a clean breast of them may look worse than they
were. I wish I had told you the truth from the beginning. I was a fool
to hide it at all.
"I did leave Woodlawn that Saturday for my uncle's house on the 3
o'clock train and returned on the 3:29 from the city. I had been wrought
up by Mr. Hodgkins' visit of the night before. He was going to open the
safe at 2:30 the next day and the will would be read at last. If I were
disinherited I should be absolutely penniless, dependent on my mother,
and her property, I knew, was encumbered."
"Your mother, then, was your father's sole heir?" asked the district
attorney.
"Yes, sir."
"Encumbered largely through your extravagance?" added Shagarach.
"Through my extravagance. I was on pins and needles, too nervous to
sleep, to eat--the servants can corroborate that--until this should be
settled; too nervous even to await my mother's return."
"She had driven in to meet Mr. Hodgkins?"
"She had. It must have been nearly 3:25 when I arrived and the
appointment of Hodgkins was at 2:30."
"You took the Southern line?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I heard the train coming. I acted on the impulse, flung out of
the house and headed it off."
"Go on."
"I walked toward my uncle's up Broad street, entered the passageway,
mounted the steps and found the side door open."
"Open?"
"I mean unlocked, not ajar. There was no one stirring in the lower
floor. I wondered whether Hodgkins had come and the safe was opened.
Then I went upstairs to the study."
"Your glove in your left hand?"
"As I remember it, yes. I forgot to mention the barking of the dog
upstairs. When I got to the study door the barking was louder and the
dog seemed to be pawing at the door inside. Smoke was streaming out
through the keyhole and I could hear a loud crackling inside. I looked
at my watch"--here Harry's delivery grew broken and he stuttered over
the words--"I looked at my watch and saw that I had time to catch the
3:29. So I ran out the way I had come, slammed the door, knocked over
some boys that were blocking up the alleyway, crossed Broad street and
dove into the little passage called Marketman's row, which opens at the
other end opposite the door of the depot.
"The 3:29 train was just steaming out when I caught the last car. At
Woodlawn I jumped off on the unused side of the station and crossed the
meadows to my house. Dr. Whipple had just come and had been directed to
my room. I doubt if even the servants knew of my departure and arrival."
There was a pause when Harry finished. He looked straight at Shagarach,
flush-cheeked and ashamed, but with all the Arnold boldness.
"You have left out the vital part of your story," said the lawyer, when
it appeared that the witness had nothing more to add. "Why did you fly
from a stream of smoke issuing through a keyhole?"
"There were two reasons, shameful both of them, but I ask you to
remember that I had recently risen from a fever and that I was greatly
excited at the time. In the first place, the image of the safe in that
study had haunted me for days."
"Although you have testified that you did not know you were
disinherited. Is that another lie?"
"No, sir; it is the truth. I had absolutely no knowledge of the terms of
my uncle's will."
"Then why were you apprehensive? Why did the image of the safe in which
it was guarded haunt you?"
"Because--because I feared what actually did happen. I feared that he
had bequeathed my share of his property elsewhere."
"Go on."
"I knew that the destruction of the safe would set me back to my
position as heir, would assure me $5,000,000. It could do me no harm.
That idea flashed through me as I stood on the landing, with my hand on
the knob. And then my own position! I might be accused of setting the
fire for that very purpose. This was the thought that led me to flee. I
remember looking at my watch, as I said. The 3:29 train would place me
in safety almost before the fire was under way."
"And as a matter of fact, you were back in Woodlawn almost before the
first stream of water was played upon the burning building?"
"I reached there at 3:45."
"You didn't stop to liberate the dog?"
"No, sir."
"You didn't think it your duty to save property and life by checking the
flames or at least giving the alarm?"
"No, sir."
"You simply wanted your uncle's money."
"I wanted my uncle's money."
The gathering indignation of the audience expressed itself at this
avowal by a sharp, spontaneous hiss. But the prisoner only bit his lips.
The officers rapped for order and Chief Justice Playfair arose.
"I cannot find it in my heart to rebuke this manifestation, unseemly
though it be in a temple of justice. For I knew Benjamin Arnold for many
years. His cheek at the age of nearly fourscore had the rosy flush of a
boy's and his unimpaired vigor was a living attestation of the pure
youth and honorable manhood through which he had passed. He deserved a
better return from his brother's son than the avaricious greed for his
riches which the witness has confessed."
"Your honor," said Harry, "I have not made myself understood. It is not
for me to parry your honor's rebuke. I have richly deserved it. I have
been selfish and a seeker of my own pleasure. But it would be unjust to
my better self, which is now struggling to the surface, if I did not
disown the entertainment of such feelings now. I am on the stand under
oath and I told you the simple truth about my motives at that critical
moment."
"I find it hard," replied the chief justice, "to understand such a frame
of mind. If you were present and consented to the fire, as you admit, by
failing to check the flames or give the alarm, then it appears to me
that you are morally if not legally a self-confessed accessory after the
fact."
"The explanation can only deepen my blame, your honor. I itched for
money at that time. Yet all that I received flowed from me faster than
it came. I had exhausted my mother's income, trenched upon her credit,
borrowed of my friends, and still I craved more. I was a victim of the
passion for games of chance."
"Then you were capable of the gravest crimes," said Chief Justice
Playfair.
"The fact that the witness took the 3 o'clock train when the will was
supposed to have been read at 2:30," said the district attorney, "seems
to me evidence that he had not contemplated a crime in coming."
"I do not charge that he contemplated a crime when he started from the
house," answered Shagarach, promptly, "but I do charge that, finding an
opportunity to hand, Harry Arnold, who by his own confession was present
at the door of his uncle's study at the time this fire started, yielded
to an evil impulse, ignited the loose papers lying about and fled."
"Harry Arnold has, indeed, been traced to the study door," retorted the
district attorney, "but Robert Floyd was inside the room."
"Then we must bring Harry Arnold across the threshold," said Shagarach,
resuming the cross-examination.
"Did you not know when you entered the house that the safe was unopened,
owing to Hodgkins' detention?"
"No, sir; I knew nothing about that. When I went I expected to meet
Hodgkins there."
"Then what good would it do you to see your uncle's study burned if it
contained only an empty safe?"
"I didn't know whether the will was in the safe or not."
"And you didn't know whether the will disinherited you or not?"
"No, sir."
"But, acting on the possibility that there might be a will there, which
might disinherit you, you ran away and left the house to burn?"
"It was contemptible, I admit."
"Hadn't you met your mother that afternoon?"
"Not after she left Woodlawn."
"What time was that?"
"Before 2 o'clock."
"She left in a carriage?"
"Yes, sir; one of the family carriages."
"And arrived at your uncle's toward three?"
"She has told me so."
"Leaving there a little after three?"
"Yes, sir."
"She might have driven around, then, for fifteen minutes and returned by
the Southern depot just in time to meet you?"
"She might have done so."
"And inform you of Hodgkins' detention?"
"She might have done so, but whether you believe me or not, I never saw
my mother until she came home that evening."
"Or any messenger from her?"
"Or any messenger."
"Did you set the fire?"
"No, sir."
"Did Floyd set it?"
"I refuse to believe that he did."
"Then who did? It must have been one or the other of you two."
"Or both of them," whispered Inspector McCausland to John Davidson, but
the marshal shook his head.
"It is a mystery I cannot solve," said Harry Arnold.
"Let us help you, then. You testified before that you never corresponded
with Ellen Greeley?"
"Why should I correspond with the girl?"
"In order that she might sell you what information she could overhear
about your uncle's will."
Shagarach brought his face closer to Harry's and his eyes seemed to
blaze like searchlights, illuminating the depths of the young man's
soul.
"Will you kindly read that aloud?" The lawyer handed his witness a
letter. Harry glanced it over curiously, then read:
"'The peddler has not come for two days, so I send you this by a
trustworthy messenger. As I wrote you in my last, the professor
said in the study: "Harry gets his deserts." That was all I could
hear. Only he and Mr. Robert talked for a long time afterward. The
will is in the safe in the study. If I hear anything more I will
let you know, and please send me the money you promised me soon.'"
"Whose handwriting is that?" asked Shagarach.
"I never saw it before."
"It is unsigned, unaddressed and undated, is it not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Presumably, then, a letter in which both sender and receiver desired to
conceal their names?"
"Perhaps so. I cannot offer an opinion as to that."
"Don't you know that letter was written by Ellen Greeley to you?"
"No, sir; I never received such a letter."
"I am aware that you never received it. But you received the previous
letters referred to in this case, did you not? You received the letter
stating that 'Harry gets his deserts,' meaning obviously that he gets
nothing, did you not?"
"No, sir; I have never received a shred of communication from Ellen
Greeley."
"Do you know the peddler referred to in this letter?"
"No, sir."
At this point Mrs. Arnold, who had sat through each of the three
previous days' sessions, arose hurriedly and passed out. Shagarach just
caught a glimpse of a lady's back departing, but the vacant seat told
its story. He paused in his examination of Harry. It was Mrs. Arnold who
had put McCausland on Floyd's track, Mrs. Arnold who had stolen Harry's
photographs from Jacob, Mrs. Arnold who had driven up to the house in a
carriage, Mrs. Arnold who would naturally deal, through her servants,
with a street vender calling at the house.
"A subpoena blank!" he cried suddenly to Aronson. His pen flew over the
paper, filling in names and other details.
"Serve that at any cost," he said to his assistant, and Aronson smooched
the ink, so eager was he to obey.
"You do not know the peddler?" said Shagarach, taking up the
cross-examination.
"No, sir."
"You never saw a peddler in a green cart that used to call at your house
in Woodlawn during the month of June?"
"Not to my knowledge. Of course, there are peddlers everywhere and some
of them have green carts."
"Wouldn't you regard it as a peculiar circumstance if a particular
peddler began calling at your house and your uncle's house about the
time your uncle made his will and stopped his visits after the fire?"
"I don't know that I should attach importance to that circumstance. It
might be accidental."
"But he might also be a go-between."
"Between whom?"
"Between you and Ellen Greeley."
"I never conducted any intrigue of any kind with Ellen Greeley."
"Did you know the man who was captured here yesterday?"
"No, sir."
"Wasn't he the peddler referred to in Ellen Greeley's letter?"
"The letter you handed me? I do not know."
"Is this one of your lies or the truth?"
"This is the truth."
"How are we to distinguish between your lying and truth-telling?"
Harry was silent.
"The only means of distinction thus far has been our own superior proof
of the facts."
"I can only give you my word. If you choose to doubt it I am helpless."
"Will you please explain how your mother, who has left the court-room, I
perceive, was able to inform Mr. McCausland that Robert Floyd was
disinherited by his uncle and thus guide the finger of suspicion toward
an innocent man from you, the incendiary?"
"I had no hand or finger in setting that fire. Circumstances tell
against me. I have debased my own word, ruined my credibility, by a
series of perjuries, all flowing from one initial folly. I can now
understand my cousin's position--the shame of being misunderstood,
unjustly suspected, though I am not fortified, as I feel that he is, by
a consciousness of stainless honor throughout the affair. If he is
guilty, then I am, and I ask--or, rather, I insist--that you shall place
me under the same restriction of liberty as my cousin. Let me sleep
under the same roof, endure the same privations, until he is acquitted
and set free. For if to have had wrongdoing, ever so remotely, in one's
heart is guilt, then I am the guiltier of us two."
"The sheriff, I think, will provide you a lodging," said Shagarach,
coolly, and after a conference between the chief justice, the district
attorney and the lawyer it was announced that a warrant for Harry
Arnold's arrest would be granted and that he would spend the night in a
cell.
"There are still several points against the prisoner not met," said the
district attorney, when Shagarach moved for Robert's discharge.
"It is a new doctrine that a man should be held because there is
reasonable doubt of his innocence," said the lawyer. But the district
attorney was rigid and the chief justice thought it best, since there
was only one more witness for the prosecution, to let the jury decide
upon the facts, which were properly their province.
"Forgive me, Rosalie," said Harry, humbly, as he passed her, going out,
and her eyes, though they were full of mortification, disillusion,
rebuke, told that she forgave him because she loved him.
"Arnold or Floyd?" was the alternative on the lips of the multitude
surging homeward after that dramatic day, and Robert for the first time
was actually cheered when he left the courthouse.
"Looks as though we might have two hangings instead of one," remarked
Inspector McCausland to a reporter.
"Did you notice the expression on that woman who went out?" said Ecks to
Wye.
"No."
"Guilt," said Ecks, shuffling his notes into his pocket. Then Emily saw
Rosalie March's beautiful face soiled with tears and hastened down to
comfort her.
"I am sorry," she said. "Don't fear for Harry. Nobody in the world set
that fire. It just caught----"
But why importune readers with Emily's theory, when they have doubtless
already guessed it in detail?