Jim was buried on Tuesday. The funeral was very quiet, only Mary and
myself, with a few of Jim's most intimate friends, attending. I have
always had a repugnance to large and ostentatious funerals and I felt
that Jim would have preferred to have the actual ceremony over as
quickly and quietly as possible. It affected me too much to allow me
to think of anything else but my loss, at the time, and I should have
left town the day after, had I not received a summons to appear before
the grand jury.
Mary called me up and told me that she, too, had been summoned, so I
drove the car around for her. She was nervous and frightened at the
thought of having to testify and she asked me all the questions she
could think of on what to do and what to say. I reassured her, telling
her the district attorney was friendly to Jim and that I was confident
our testimony as to Helen's words would stave off any indictment until
Helen was well enough to testify.
"But, Warren, the fact that she was delirious will make it pretty shaky
testimony, won't it?" Mary argued.
"Yes, that's true. But I don't think that they will want to bring an
indictment while Helen is ill. You see, the indictment couldn't be
served anyway, and I think our testimony will convince them there's a
reasonable doubt as to Helen's guilt."
She seemed convinced until the gloomy bulk of the court-house came in
view, when terror rushed back fourfold.
"Oh, Bupps, can't I get out of it?"
"No, dear, it's got to be gone through with. Remember it depends on
you and me."
"But what if they ask me Jim's and Helen's conversation before they
started for the country-club?"
"Tell them as little as possible, but stick to the truth. We know
Helen's innocent and the truth can't hurt her."
We passed Inspector Robinson in the hall down-stairs and the half smile
on his lips irritated me. It was his report to the grand jury that had
stirred things up. He knew only too well that with the sensational
_Sun_ to back him, an indictment would be taken by the public to mean
proven guilt.
At the entrance to the anteroom we found Wicks, his face drawn into
lines of the most acute misery.
"I couldn't 'elp it, sir. They made me come."
"I know it, Wicks. Don't worry! It's a mere formality," I reassured
him.
"I 'ope so, sir, but I don't like it."
"None of us do, Wicks, but it can't be helped," I replied. "Did Annie
come with you?"
"No, sir. Strange to say she wasn't called, sir."
Good! That helped our case some. Mary and I walked into the anteroom
to await our turn. The coroner was already there. Wicks had followed
us and took a seat close by. Mary's face was a study in suppressed
nervousness.
"Couldn't you go in there with me, Bupps?" she asked.
"No, Mary, the grand jury does its work in secret."
A clerk called the coroner and as he passed from the room, Robinson and
Pickering came in. Robinson didn't even glance in my direction, but
Pickering walked over quickly and shook hands.
"Devilish sorry things have taken the turn they have, old man," he said.
"You mean about--my sister?"
"Yes. Robinson seems to think he has all the proof he needs. I wish I
could help you."
"Thanks awfully," I replied.
He had only been seated a few moments when he was called to testify.
As the coroner left the room, I tried to read in his face the nature of
his testimony, but it was inscrutable. Pickering was out in less than
ten minutes, and then Wicks was called. His legs seemed a bit shaky as
he started for the door and he gave me a parting look, half awe, half
terror.
Robinson paced up and down, his short stubby legs expressing confidence
and satisfaction. Every turn, he scrutinized Mary, as if trying to
place her in some criminal category.
At last Wicks came out, perspiring as if he'd been in a steam bath.
Robinson looked him over once, gave a snort of derision and passed into
the jury room. I wanted to ask Wicks some questions, but the poor man
fled before I could attract his notice.
Mary got up and walked over to the big windows where a flood of warm
September sunlight poured into the room. For a moment she stood gazing
down on the crowded square below, then suddenly turned and half sobbed:
"Bupps, I can't stand it! I may say something that will hurt Helen."
Great sobs shook her slender body. I went over and clumsily tried to
comfort her.
"Mary, dear, Helen didn't do it. When she is well enough, we'll be
able to find out all about it. Even if they do bring an indictment,
Helen can prove her innocence."
The sobs diminished to sniffles, and then to occasional sighs. She
opened her bag, extracted a miniature powder-puff and dabbed at her
small upturned nose spitefully. I knew that the storm had passed.
"I know--that--that I'm foolish to c-cry, but I just c-couldn't help
it."
A clerk opened the door and called Mary's name. She gave me a startled
glance and her face blanched. I thought she was going to break down
again, but suddenly I saw her raise her chin defiantly and an angry
sparkle come to her eyes. She snapped shut her vanity-bag and marched
toward the jury room like a soldier, sentenced to be shot, yet
determined to die bravely.
It was only after she had left that I began to think about my own
testimony. After all, the evidence was terrifyingly strong against
Helen. She had threatened to kill Jim. She had quarreled with him
just before their last ride, had chosen the back seat purposely, had
Jim's revolver with her, and knew she was being taken to see her lover
humiliated and threatened. Against all this, I had only a brother's
faith in his sister and those half dozen words cried out in a delirium.
A sickening certainty that they would indict Helen came over me. What
if she did--? What if she should confess?
In some way I had to save Helen if only for mother's sake. After all,
Woods, too, had threatened Jim. He knew Jim had proof of his
dishonesty. He had made the engagement and had asked Jim to come
alone. At this point of my review of the facts I decided to tell the
jury all. If Woods was at the country-club the entire evening he would
be able to establish a complete alibi and my testimony would not hurt
him, while it might be enough, if I could make it so, to hold the jury
until Helen could testify. Hearing steps outside, I turned to see the
object of my mental attentions walk into the room.
"You here, Woods?" I queried.
"Yes. Those admirable servants of your sister's gave the police just
enough of the vulgar details of that meeting between Felderson and
myself to make them think I--well, they ordered me to report and here I
am."
He looked worried and irritable. For the first time I realized what
the man must have gone through during the last few days, with his
business troubles and Helen's injury. How he had met his obligations
without Helen's money, I didn't know.
"I should have thought you'd have been glad to testify to save Helen
from an indictment."
Woods whirled around. "You don't mean to say there's a chance of that,
Thompson? Why, she didn't do it, she couldn't have done it. She--she
isn't capable of doing such a thing. It's monstrous. I've read the
rot that _The Sun_ has been printing, but I didn't think--I can't think
any one would take it seriously." A gray shadow seemed to fall across
his face.
"Felderson was shot from behind and Helen was the only one with him," I
threw out, watching Woods closely to see what effect my words would
have on him. The man looked as though he knew more about the crime
than I had supposed.
"I know that! But haven't people sense enough to see that Helen is
utterly incapable of such an act. Good God, they must be blind!"
I was brought back to the business on hand by hearing my name shouted.
They must have let Mary out by another door for when I entered the jury
room she was not there. It was hot and stuffy, smelling of stale
tobacco and staler clothing. I noticed that the jurymen seemed deeply
interested and that they were, for the most part, a rather intelligent
lot. The foreman, a near-sighted business-looking person, seemed to
radiate sympathy through his glasses. The district attorney,
Kirkpatrick, knew Jim well, had his help often and was one of his best
friends.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Warren Thompson."
"Your address?"
"Eleven thirty-two Grant Avenue."
"Your business?"
"I am a lawyer," I responded.
The district attorney seated himself at a table and arranged some
papers before him.
"You were what relation to the deceased?"
"The brother-in-law," I replied.
"Mr. Thompson," the attorney began, leaning on the table in front of
him, "will you please tell the jury if there was any unhappiness in the
married life of your sister and brother-in-law?"
"Until recently Mr. and Mrs. Felderson were very happy together.
During the last three months their happiness has not been quite--so
pronounced."
"What was the cause of their disagreement?"