"A SUPREME COURT SCANDAL."
"A JUDICIAL JUDAS."
"A DANIEL COME TO GRIEF."
This last effort apparently satisfied the embryo city editor, for his
sub-headings were written below:
"AN EXTRAORDINARY COURT ORDER
UNEARTHED BY _The Guardian_."
"It Bears the Initials of the Hon. Charles Blagden, Candidate for
Judicial Office."
"A Searching Investigation to be Instituted. Lawyers Indignant.
Litigants Astonished."
Martin read the words with savage satisfaction.
So, the Hon. Justice was playing tricks, was he--and not very good
tricks either? He was on the point of being exposed--was he? Well, it
was about time something happened to those noiseless wheels of the
little tin god! People were beginning to believe there was something
miraculous in his transit. It had long been heretical to suggest either
pull or push. But both agencies have to be paid for in one way or
another, and at some time.--To pay whom or what was this green-covered
order required?--What a shock it would be for the worshippers to see
their metal divinity wobbling on his stand and to hear the shrieking
of his squeaky rollers! Fortunately for him some of his triumphs
were secure, but it would be interesting for at least one person to
discover---- No, she would never discover anything. Charlie would tell
her it was all right--and that would make it so.--"Charlie,"
indeed!--Ugh!
A sharp movement in front of him aroused Martin from his bitter musing.
The young reporter was leaning forward in his chair, staring at a little
clean-shaven Hebrew who had entered the room and was leaning on the
rail, a green-covered legal paper in his hand.
Van took the document from the messenger, shook it open and placed it at
the bottom of the pile of orders on the Judge's desk. The Court had
already begun to hear arguments, and as the Counsel talked the Judge
occasionally took up one of these orders and signed it. Clerks kept
entering the room from time to time, handing papers and orders to Van,
who added them to the rapidly-increasing pile on the Judge's desk.
Meanwhile Martin stared at the green edge of the order in which _The
Guardian_ took such a lively interest. How did that paper come to know
its contents? _The Guardian_ was politically opposed to the Judge's
party--was, indeed, the semi-official organ of the enemy. It could not
be in the confidence of the Judge's friends. No avenue of exposure would
be more carefully watched than that which led to the columns of _The
Guardian_. There must be a traitor in the camp. Or perhaps some honest
man, despising underhand methods, had given the clue to the most
effective police. But if an honest man desired to protect his party,
would he not frustrate the scheme rather than expose it after it was
accomplished? Yes, some traitor must be selling information to the
opposition. _The Guardian_ certainly would not hesitate to buy dirty
secrets. It was savagely partisan--unscrupulous and daring. It fairly
slobbered with the froth of sensation--lived on scandal, and obtained
its pabulum by any and every means. Thus far there had been little to
feed upon in the career of the Hon. Charles Blagden. But it would not
shrink from providing itself with carrion if a touch of one of its
underground wires would suffice.--Might not _The Guardian_ know the
history of the green-covered order at first hand?
Martin dismissed the thought again and again, but it gathered strength
and substance and forced itself upon him. He recalled the words of the
Boss Reporter about Blagden's never having sat at Chambers before. He
had explained that that was "just the point." And the point was--?
Obviously that the work at Chambers was hurried, and that a novice would
be apt to sign papers without due deliberation.
What could be easier for a sheet like _The Guardian_ than to trump up a
legal proceeding of some sort, and to concoct, with the aid of cunning
lawyers, an order unobjectionable on its face, but which would
compromise the reputation of any Judge who signed it? If the plot
miscarried, the conspirators could readily cover their tracks and make
good their escape.--It was a dangerous game but not a new one.
And if all this were so, what had he, Martin, to do with it?
Of course if Blagden was playing tricks he deserved to get caught and no
one but the hero-worshippers could be expected to cry.--But if he was
being tricked?--That was just the question to be decided. He, Martin,
was merely a spectator, interested in the event, it is true, but still
only an onlooker.--Was that true? Had not that role been forfeited when
he acquired special information? Was his attitude a perfectly passive
one? If any other man than Blagden was on the Bench would he not
instantly communicate what he had heard? Would he feel no disappointment
whatsoever if Blagden refused to sign the order? Frankly--was he not
waiting to see his enemy walk into what he believed was a trap?
Martin flushed at the silent self-accusation and instantly pronounced it
absurd. What could he do? Any man who goes on the Bench has to assume
grave responsibilities and take the risk with the honours. Blagden's
attitude had always been a silent boast of needing no help from anyone.
Would not interference give him an opportunity for retorting that "he
had the office and Martin the officiousness." How he would roll that
under his tongue!--No, Blagden could take care of himself. He would
never thank anyone for playing nurse for him.
The papers on the Judge's desk were piling higher and higher, and he
began to sign or reject them more rapidly as the time wore on. Martin
glanced at _The Guardian's_ order. It was still buried under a dozen
others.
Why did he think of it as "_The Guardian's_ order"? He had no proof of
the matter. But were not his suspicions strong enough to excuse a
warning? What did he fear? A snub? Well, that was better than "_the
laughter of the soul against itself when conscience has condemned it,
which the soul never hears once in its fulness without hearing it
forever after_."
How often he had repeated those lines to himself! What a hopeless,
haunting sound they had in them! He hated this man--but was he willing
to wear the _The Guardian's_ mask and hear forever after the hideous
laughter of the soul?
Martin glanced again at the Judge's desk, and then rapidly writing a few
words on a piece of paper, folded and addressed it to the Hon. Charles
Blagden, and carried it to the Clerk's desk.
Van, restored to his usual good humour, met him with a smile.
"Why didn't you come earlier for your papers, Mr. Martin?" he whispered.
"I've had them here for you ever since Court opened."
"Much obliged, Van. Just hand this note up to Judge Blagden--will you?"
"I can't do it, Mr. Martin. His Private Secretary says it's one of his
fads. He won't even let us hand him telegrams when he's on the Bench."
"But this is more important than a telegram, Van," replied Martin in a
low tone. "Hand it up to him and I'll assume all the responsibility."
"I'd like to oblige you, Mr. Martin, but----"
"You will not be obliging me, Van, but him."
The veteran clerk gazed at the earnest face of the lawyer for a moment,
and then reached out his hand for the letter.
"I'll try it, Mr. Martin," he whispered.
It was some moments before the Justice noticed Van standing near his
chair, and raised his eyes inquiringly. The clerk held out the folded
piece of paper, but Blagden frowned and impatiently waved the official
away. For a moment Van lingered, but when the Magistrate swung his chair
so as to turn his back on the interruption, he rejoined Martin and
handed him the rejected note, with a smile and a shrug.
Martin took it and sat down again with a distinct feeling of relief. He
had done all he could. If there was anything wrong with the order he had
tried his best to call it to the Judge's attention, and that pompous
fool had rejected the opportunity. He might as well hand up the _Phelps_
vs. _Orson_ papers and go back to the office.
Martin pulled the small bundle out of his pocket and studied the
indorsement. _Phelps_ against _Orson_? Why, that must be the case Dick
Phelps had talked about for half an hour at the Club the other night. Of
course it was--Allison was his attorney. Well, that was rather odd.
Martin wrote "_submitted_" on the first paper in the bundle, and then
glanced at the Bench. The green order was fourth from the top.
Why the devil did his heart keep thumping with excitement! He had done
more than ninety-nine men out of a hundred would do. Anything more would
be asinine interference for which he would have time to repent at
leisure. He'd get right out of that stifling Court Room--
"_Phelps_ against _Orson_" called the Judge.
For a heart-beat Martin hesitated. Then he rose to his feet and walking
directly to the Counsel's table slipped the rubber band from his bundle
of papers and sat down.
As his opponent began to speak, Martin lazily read through his papers,
making an occasional note on a loose sheet of legal cap. When he looked
up again the green order was second from the top. Then he shoved his
chair back and watched the Judge who, as the Counsel ceased speaking,
took up another paper, leaving the green-covered order at the top of the
pile.
Martin glanced at the clock and noted that recess would begin in
twenty-five minutes. Then he sat quietly and waited till the Judge,
surprised at the unusual pause, looked at him, and nodded.
"Proceed, Mr. Martin."
Martin gazed fixedly at the Bench and rose with great deliberation and
dignity.
"If it please the Court," he began solemnly, "this is, on its face, a
simple motion for a bill of particulars--part of that sparring for
position which precedes every legal encounter. But at the outset I ask
the closest possible attention from the Court, for before I have
finished I expect to show that this apparently simple motion cloaks a
matter of vital importance, not only to these litigants but to the
public at large."
Judge Blagden leaned back in his chair and listened to the lawyer with
grave attention. The attorney for the defendant stared at the speaker in
blank astonishment.
It was, Martin continued impressively, a case in which a knowledge of
all the facts was of supreme importance. To understand certain actions
one must follow the wires that control them, underground or overhead,
until the hand which clutches them be discovered. For this reason he
would take the liberty of detailing to the Court the history of the
litigation.
Martin then launched into a minute and deliberate recital of the facts.
He dwelt upon the private history of the plaintiff, traced his business
career from its beginning up to the day of the transaction with the
defendants, described the fruitless efforts of the parties to settle
their differences out of Court, and the failure of the attorneys to come
to any agreement.
At this point the defendant's attorney interrupted, claiming that none
of these facts, however interesting they might be, was to be found in
the papers, and that Counsel must be confined to what was therein
stated.
Martin admitted that, ordinarily, this would be proper, but in this case
he asked for "great latitude for grave reasons." Then, with marked
emphasis, he recapitulated all the various points he had detailed and
asked the Court to note their important bearing upon what he was about
to disclose.
The opposing Counsel shifted uneasily in his chair and shook his head in
utter bewilderment, and the Justice leaned forward on his desk.
Then Martin picked up the bill of complaint and began to read it with
great deliberation. That seemed to break the spell.
"Mr. Martin, I must ask you to come to your point, please," interrupted
the Justice.
"I am coming to it now, Sir."
He again took up the complaint and once more began to read it aloud.
Judge Blagden revolved his chair restlessly from side to side and again
interrupted--this time impatiently.
"You have already occupied almost twenty minutes, Mr. Martin. This is
not, you know, the Court of Appeals."
"Where your Honour's decision can be reviewed if incorrect? I am aware
of that, Sir."
The Magistrate looked sharply at the speaker, who regarded him with a
calm, cold glance.
"The Court cannot allow you to consume much more time, Sir. The decision
of this motion is largely a matter of discretion----"
"Which your Honour will remember is the better part of valour."
Judge Blagden frowned angrily at the speaker and picked up the
green-covered order.
The Court Room was hushed to almost breathless stillness.
"Go on with your argument, Mr. Martin, but be brief." The words came
from behind the paper in the Judge's hand.
Martin instantly sat down.
The Judge stopped reading and peered over the desk.
"Well," he queried, "have you finished?"
"No, Sir, I have not," answered Martin positively.
"Then proceed, Sir."
"When the Court honours me with the courtesy of its attention I will
proceed--but not until then."
The answer was a challenge, sharp and decisive.
"I am listening, Sir," retorted Blagden, in a tone of marked annoyance,
"and I have been listening much longer than should be necessary. Get to
your point at once."
"If the Court is willing to undertake a divided duty," Martin paused
until the Judge's eyes met his--"I am unwilling to receive a divided
attention."
"The Court has no inclination to hear further suggestions from Counsel
on this point."
The Judge took up his pen, dipped it in the ink, and turned to the last
page of the green-covered order.
Behind him Martin could hear the cub-reporter tiptoeing to the door.
"Then if the Court will not give me a hearing I demand that it read my
brief!"
Martin thundered out the words so fiercely that the audience started
perceptibly and the Judge looked up in angry astonishment.
"Sit down, Mr. Martin," he ordered sternly.
"I hand you my brief, Sir," answered Martin, holding out a folded sheet
of legal cap, "and request its immediate consideration."
"You may hand it to the clerk, Sir; it will be considered at the proper
time."
"I request the Court to read it now."
"The Court will not entertain it at present."
"I demand it as a right!"
"Mr. Martin, you forget yourself."
"You are right, but still I demand that this brief be now read."
Martin leaned over the rail and placed the document upon the Judge's
desk.
In the pause that followed, the Magistrate's eyes followed these lines
indorsed on the cover of the paper thrust before him:
"_Look out for the green-covered order in your hand. Suspect something
fraudulent. Parties now in Court watching you. Am talking against
time._"
Then the stillness of the room was broken by the Justice speaking in a
constrained voice:
"The Court will now adjourn for recess. In the meantime, Mr. Martin, I
will consider your brief."
* * * * *
It was some days after the crowd had ceased discussing the way Blagden
"got called down by Martin" that the latter wrote a short reply to the
former's long epistle.
"_Mr. Martin respectfully acknowledges Judge Blagden's
letter of the 10th inst., and is gratified to learn that the
warning was not wholly uncalled for. The Justice, however,
may rest assured that he is under no obligation to Mr.
Martin, whose sole concern in the matter was his honour--but
not His Honour Charles Blagden._"