EVIDENCE BY MR. PLUM.
“Very well; we will drop the subject for the present,” John Hubbard
remarked, with compressed lips, and making a visible effort for
self-control, “but I want you to think over what I have said, and
be prepared to give me a different answer later on.”
Allison started, and something in his tone stirred her anger and
instantly restored all her self-possession.
“No,” she said decidedly, as she lifted her beautiful eyes, and
steadily met his, “I do not need to think it over, and I could
not give you any different answer later on. I know now that I do
not love you well enough to marry you, and never shall; so, Mr.
Hubbard, please never speak of this again to me.”
Her manner was so resolute, her tone so calmly authoritative he
knew that she meant every word she uttered, and a terrible though
silent rage took possession of him.
But he had far too much at stake to betray it, and thus incur
her enmity. He meant to move heaven and earth to win her and her
magnificent fortune. He meant to have both, if he could; but if she
proved obstinate, and would not marry him, he had other plans--he
would ruthlessly crush her, and so eventually win her money. Still,
a young and pretty wife was worth temporizing for; and so, with a
forced smile, he said:
“My child, I love you far too well to bring even a cloud to your
dear face, so we will drop the subject for the present, and some
time, perhaps, you will realize the value of a true and faithful
heart.”
When he went away, Alison, with a troubled face, watched him from a
window, as he passed down the street.
“Ugh!” she cried, shrugging her shoulders impatiently. “I could
never marry him--never! Why, he is years and years older than I!
Then he has such horrid eyes, and, when he smiles, his teeth look
just like those of an ugly dog through that mustache of his, and
make my flesh creep. I don’t believe that any man so repulsive can
be really good, and I wonder how papa could have trusted him as he
seemed to. I suppose, though, he must be a good business man; but
marry him! I’d rather go into a convent and live out the rest of my
life as a nun,” she concluded, with a shiver of disgust.
Then, suddenly, her thoughts reverted to Gerald, and a little color
came back to her pale cheeks.
“I wonder where he can be,” she mused. “I think it is so strange
that he has not been here--that he did not come to papa’s funeral,
and has not even sent me a note to tell me that he is sorry for my
trouble--he might, at least, have done as much as that.”
Her lips quivered, and hot tears rushed to her eyes, in view of
this seeming neglect.
Many times during those days of loneliness and sorrow she had
thought that if she could see Gerald, if only for a few minutes,
his presence would be an inexpressible comfort to her; but she had
told herself that it was his duty to either come to her, or send
her a note of condolence, and she had been too proud to write and
ask him to come.
But now, after her disagreeable interview with her guardian, the
longing for him became so intense that, after struggling for a few
moments with her emotions, she bowed her face upon her hands, and
burst into violent weeping.
But poor Gerald was still a prisoner, awaiting his trial, which,
for some inexplicable reason, had been deferred, from day to day,
until he was now very impatient and miserable.
On Monday, after his arrest, he had sent a note to Professor
Emerson, who, after listening to the young man’s story, looked
grave and perplexed. The case seemed difficult, and he at once
procured a lawyer, Mr. Arnold, for the prisoner. The latter at
Gerald’s request, went to his room to procure the note that Mr.
Brewster had written to him, but it was nowhere to be found.
The landlady was interviewed to ascertain, if possible, if any one
outside the house had been in his room during his absence; but both
she and the chambermaid asserted that there had not.
It was, nevertheless, a fact that John Hubbard had himself been
there. As it happened, he knew another lodger in the same house,
and on Monday evening following Gerald’s arrest, he called upon
him, making a plausible errand of some kind. In this way he
learned that Gerald’s room was located upon the same floor, and
upon taking his leave, he shyly slipped into our hero’s apartment,
and in less than two minutes reappeared with Mr. Brewster’s note in
his possession, thus depriving his victim of an important piece of
evidence.
Gerald, in laying his case before his lawyer, did not mention
Allison, or the fact that she had been present in the room during
any portion of his interview with her father.
He really believed that she had not entered in season to overhear
anything that had been said about the “doctored” accounts, and
even if he had known that such was the case, it is doubtful if
he could have brought himself to call upon her as a witness for
him. The thought of dragging her into a criminal court, to have
her name bandied about by newspaper reporters, was very repugnant
to him. Besides, she had not shown the slightest interest in him,
or sympathy for him in his trouble. He reasoned that she could
not fail to know of it, since it had been widely chronicled in
the papers, and her apparent indifference cut him to the quick,
wounding his pride as well as his love, and thus a certain
obstinacy took possession of him, and made him secretly vow that he
would not appeal to her, even if he knew that her evidence would
save him from serving a sentence in State prison.
The real facts of the case were, that during the first few days
after her father’s death, Allison had been so prostrated with grief
that it had been comparatively easy for John Hubbard to keep all
newspapers from her, which he had taken special pains to do, as he
did not care to have her know anything of Gerald’s trouble until
it was too late for her to interest herself for him. He believed
that he had played his cards so cleverly that his conviction was
inevitable, and, once behind prison-bars, he believed the fair girl
would never give him another thought.
The case was finally called on the Tuesday following Mr. Brewster’s
burial. John Hubbard appeared against Gerald armed and equipped
with the falsified books, the casket of jewels, and the other box,
which had been carefully relocked, for the wily plotter had no
intention of having its secrets disclosed at present--those he was
reserving for later schemes in connection with Allison.
The evidence for the prosecution was presented, with all the
eloquence and cunning of which the expert was master, and to every
listener in the room the fate of Gerald appeared settled before he
concluded.
There were very few witnesses for the prisoner. The servant who
had admitted him to the Brewster mansion on the Saturday previous
to his master’s death, swore to the fact, thus proving that he
had been there, and Professor Emerson, on taking the stand, spoke
eloquently and in the highest terms of his pupil, and emphatically
asserted that he believed him to be above doing a mean or dishonest
act. But, of course, all this proved nothing.
Gerald was then allowed to go upon the stand, and tell his own
story, and the moment that he turned his frank, handsome face
to the audience, when he met those critical, searching glances
with his clear, honest eyes, and manly bearing, it was evident
that he made a favorable impression upon every person in the
room--excepting his sworn enemy. When he finally concluded, Hubbard
demanded the production of the note from Mr. Brewster relating to
“a special commission.”
“It cannot be found,” Mr. Arnold gravely responded. “Mr. Winchester
left it in a pocket of his business-suit on Sunday, when he went
to the bank to execute his employer’s commission. He has not been
in his room since; but when I was authorized to go to his room to
secure this note, it had mysteriously disappeared. Nevertheless,
the fact that he went to Mr. Brewster’s residence on the date
stated, and was admitted to the man’s presence, proves conclusively
that he was sent for.”
“Not at all,” retorted the prosecuting-attorney, “any one might
have called at the banker’s residence, requested an audience, and
been admitted to his presence without a previous appointment. We
are not asking opinions, your honor, we want evidence. You assert,”
he added, turning to Gerald, “that Mr. Brewster gave you the keys
to the bank and his private drawer in the vault. Will you state
where he took them from before handing them to you?”
“From a drawer in the table beside him.”
“Exactly. Where any one could easily have secured them in the
event of Mr. Brewster’s back being turned for a moment,” retorted
the expert laconically. “Now, with reference to these falsified
accounts,” said Hubbard, touching the books before him, his white
teeth gleaming viciously for a moment beneath his mustache, “you
claim, I believe, that they are none of your work--that some
one else has changed your figures. We would like to have your
statements proven, young man.”
“I never knowingly made a false entry in my life,” Gerald proudly
returned, but flushing hotly beneath the man’s insolent manner; “my
own figures were all correct when entered, but my ‘ones’ have been
made over into fours, nines, sevens, zeros, and so forth----”
“But the proof, young man--the proof!” interposed his tormentor.
“If any one will add the columns, calling such figures as I should
point out, ‘ones,’ the balance would be found correct in every
instance,” Gerald replied.
“Possibly, but we want evidence to prove that those ‘ones’ have
been changed.”
“You can have it, sir,” said Mr. Arnold, in a brisk, businesslike
tone, that made John Hubbard prick up his ears, and, at a signal,
another witness now came forward.
He was a small, olive-complexioned man, with straight black hair,
small, sharp features, with a pair of keen, black eyes, which were
shaded by steel-bowed spectacles.
His manner was abrupt, and there was a decisive air about him which
indicated strong personality, while he rejoiced in the sobriquet of
Plum--Mr. Thomas Plum.
“Mr. Plum,” courteously observed Mr. Arnold, “will you tell the
court what you have discovered with reference to those ‘doctored
accounts’?”
“Yes, sir, yes, sir,” responded the brisk little man, taking out
some tablets, “I find no less than eighty instances where the
figure ‘one’ has been skilfully changed to some other figure,
in those accounts, and covering a period of from sixteen, to
eighteen months. If the figures were added as ones, which they
were originally, the balance would, in every instance, be correct;
but, according to the changes made, there seems to be a deficit of
several hundreds of dollars.”
John Hubbard suddenly sat erect, an alert spark glittering in his
cold, gray eyes.
“So you assert, under oath, Mr. Plum, that those figures have
all been changed since the original balances were made up?” he
observed, in a metallic tone.
“Yes, sir,” briefly but positively.
“You are willing to swear that the work was all square and right
when the clerk left it under the dates there recorded?”
“Exactly, sir.”
“Prove it, if you please.”
“That I am prepared to do,” said the expert cheerfully, but
flashing a look at his questioner which sent a sudden chill through
him. “In the first place, Mr. Winchester’s figures were all entered
with the same ink, and with a fine-pointed steel pen. The figures
that have been tampered with show a different ink, and were
evidently changed with a gold, and, probably, a fountain-pen.”
“How can you detect between the work of a gold and a steel pen?”
queried Hubbard, with a skeptical smile.
An answering smile curved the lips of Mr. Plum.
“With the utmost ease, sir, as you would soon discover were you
to study the subject with the aid of a powerful microscope. The
ink flows very differently from a gold and from a steel pen. My
examination has proved to me that Mr. Winchester was not guilty of
any of the changes referred to--his figures all being very decided,
especially in their angles, while the work of the real culprit,
although very cleverly done, shows a certain individuality of
roundness about the angles that appears nowhere in Mr. Winchester’s
figures. Your honor will observe by the aid of this powerful glass
the peculiarities of which I have spoken,” Mr. Plum concluded,
as he passed a small case up to the judge, who, after making a
careful examination of certain figures, pointed out to him, gravely
observed:
“I do so observe; it is evident that the changes were not made by
the prisoner.”
Gerald’s face lighted with pleasure at this remark, but his joy was
short-lived, for the matter of the doctored accounts was dropped
then and the charge of theft taken up.
There followed a long, sharp contest, during which his counsel
fought nobly every inch of ground for him; but the burden of proof
was all against him, and when the case was finally summed up the
outlook was certainly very discouraging.
The judge had been strongly attracted toward Gerald by his frank,
honest face, his manly bearing, and his straightforward story;
but he was reluctantly compelled to admit that the evidence was
decidedly against the prisoner, and he rose to address the jury
and summarize the testimony, but before he could utter a word the
door of the court-room was thrown open, and a slender, black-robed
figure darted inside, and walked, with a quick, firm tread directly
toward him.
The intruder was Allison Brewster.