A FRIEND
Because she feared that rising as early as she had been accustomed to
might serve to embarrass her fiance and his aunt, Agnes took a magazine
from her bag, returned to bed and tried to interest herself in a story
the morning following her arrival in the city. About seven, some one
knocked lightly at her door, and, upon opening it, she found the maid
with the morning paper.
"Would you care for it?" she asked courteously.
"I would be glad to have it," she said as she took it, returned to the
bed, and once again therein, turned to read the news. It was but a
moment before she started up quickly as she read:
STRANGE MURDER CASE ON VERNON AVENUE
NEGRO MINISTER AND HIS DAUGHTER FOUND MURDERED ABOUT MIDNIGHT
JEAN BAPTISTE, WHO HAD LOST SUIT AGAINST PREACHER, ARRESTED AND
HELD WITHOUT BAIL AS SUSPECT. WAS MET LEAVING THE HOUSE JUST BEFORE
DISCOVERY OF THE MURDER.
Jean Baptiste, Negro author and rancher is under arrest at the
county jail this morning, accused of the murder of his wife and
father-in-law, the Reverend N.J. McCarthy, at 3---- Vernon Avenue.
The dead bodies of the preacher and his daughter were discovered
shortly after midnight last night by his daughter Ethel and her
husband, upon his return from State Street where he had seen
Baptiste leave the Keystone saloon a few minutes after twelve.
The murder appears to be the sequence of a long enmity between the
preacher and his son-in-law, Baptiste. Some years ago Baptiste had
the preacher's daughter take a homestead in the West, on which he
had purchased a relinquishment for her. Some months later they were
married and went to live on the claim he had secured. It seems that
bad blood existed between the preacher and Baptiste, and some time
after the marriage the preacher went on a trip West and when he
returned brought his daughter back with him. It is said that the
rancher visited Chicago several times following in an effort to
persuade her to return. About a year ago, the daughter sold a
relinquishment on the homestead and Baptiste accused the preacher
of having influenced her to do so. He also accused him of other
things that contributed to the separation, and finally sued the
minister in the circuit court of Cook County for ten thousand
dollars for alienating his wife's affections. The case was brought
up, tried, and, yesterday, the minister was adjudged not guilty by
the jury. The rancher and author made a strong case against the
minister, and it was the consensus of opinion in the court room
that the minister was guilty. But it was his daughter's alibi that
saved him: she testified that she did not and never had loved her
husband, and because the plaintiff was unable to prove conclusively
that she had, the jury's verdict was "not guilty."
E.M. Glavis, also a son-in-law of the dead man, testified and was
corroborated by another, a minister, that just as he turned into
his yard last night, he met Jean Baptiste coming out. He moreover
claims, that a few days before the trial, he tried to dissuade
Baptiste from going through with the case, and to settle it out of
court. But that Baptiste refused to consider it; that he showed his
bitterness toward the now dead man, by declaring that if he hadn't
wished to observe and subserve to the law, he would have killed the
preacher long ago.
It is therefore the consensus of opinion that Baptiste,
disappointed by losing the suit, entered the house and murdered his
wife and father-in-law while they slept. The circumstantial
evidence is strong, and it looks rather bad for the author. Only
one phase of the case seems to puzzle the police, however, and that
is that the preacher and his daughter were found dead in the same
room, the room which the minister occupied. Both had been stabbed
with a knife that had long been in that same room. The minister's
body lay in bed as if he had been murdered while he was sleeping,
while that of the daughter lay near the door. It is the opinion
also of those who feel Baptiste guilty, that he entered the house
and went to the preacher's room, and there killed him while he lay
sleeping; and that the daughter, who was sleeping downstairs near
her mother, was possibly aroused by the noise, went up to the room,
and was murdered as the intruder was about to leave.
Baptiste refused to make any comment further than that he was
innocent.
"Accused of murder!" Agnes echoed, staring before her in much
excitement. "_Jean Baptiste accused of murder!_" She read the account
again. She arose and stood on the floor. "He _is_ innocent, _he is
innocent_!" she cried to herself. "_Jean Baptiste would not commit
murder, no, no, no! No, not even if he was justified in doing so._"
Suddenly she seized her clothes, and in the next instant was getting
hurriedly into them.
She completed her toilet quickly, opened the door and slipped down the
stairs. The maid was at work in the hall, and she approached her, and
said:
"Will you kindly advise the lady of the house that I have gone downtown
on some very urgent business. That I shall return later in the day?"
She stepped outside, crossed to State Street, inquired of an officer the
way to the county jail, and a few minutes later boarded a car for the
north side.
She had no plans as to what she would or could do, but she was going to
him. All that he had been to her in the past had arisen the instant she
saw that he was in trouble. Especially did she recall his having saved
them from foreclosure and disgrace years before. She was determined. She
was _going_ to him, he was innocent, she was positive, and she would do
all in her power to save him.
It was rather awkward, going to a place she had never dreamed of going
to, the county jail, but she shook this resolutely from her mind, and a
few minutes following her arrival, there she stood before the bailiff.
"I am a friend of a man who was arrested in connection with a murder
last night," she explained to the officer. "And--ah, would it be
possible for me to see and consult with him?"
"You refer to that case on Vernon Avenue, madam?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you would like to see this Jean Baptiste?"
"That is the one."
They regarded her closely, and was finally asked to follow the bailiff.
They stopped presently before a cell, and when the light had been turned
on, she saw Baptiste sitting on a cot. He looked up, and upon
recognizing her, came forward.
"Why, Agnes--Miss Stewart, _you_!" he cried in great surprise. He
regarded her as if afraid to try to understand her presence there.
"Yes, Jean," she answered quickly. "It is _I_." She hesitated in her
excitement, and as she did so, he caught that same mystery in her eyes.
They were blue, and again he could swear that they were brown. Despite
his precarious position and predicament, he could not help regarding
her, and marking the changes that had come in the years since he had
seen her. She seemed to have grown a trifle stouter, while her hair
appeared there in the light more beautiful. Her face was stronger, while
her lips were as red as ever. Withal, she had grown more serious
looking. She reminded him as she stood there then, of a serious young
literary woman, and he was made hopeful by her visit.
"Now, Jean, I've read all about it in the papers. I happened to be in
the city, and so came right over. I know nothing about anything like
this, and don't suppose you do either. But, Jean," she spoke excitedly,
anxiously, and hurriedly, "I am willing to do anything you ask me to,
just anything, Jean." And she regarded him tenderly. He was affected by
it, he choked confusedly. It was all so sudden. She noted his confusion,
and cried in a strained little voice,
"You must just tell _me_, Jean."
"Why, Agnes--I. Well, I don't know what to say. I don't feel that I
ought to involve you in such a mess as this. I--"
"Oh, you must not speak that way, Jean. No, no, no! I'm here to help
you. You _didn't_ kill him, you _didn't_ kill _her_--_you didn't kill
anybody, did you, Jean_?"
"Of course I didn't kill anybody, Agnes."
"Of course you didn't, Jean!" she cried with relief. "I _knew_ you were
innocent. I said so, and I got out of bed and came at once, I did."
"How brave, how noble, how kind," he murmured as if to himself, but she
reached and placed her hand over his where it rested upon the bar.
"Shall I hire a lawyer, Jean? A great lawyer--the best in the city. That
would be the first thing to do, wouldn't it, Jean?"
He looked at her, and could not believe it was so, but finally he
murmured:
"I have a lawyer--a friend of mine. You may call on him, Agnes. His
number is 3---- Vernon Avenue. He will tell me what to do."
"And _me_," she said quickly.
"Yes--_you_," he repeated, and lowered his eyes.
"Well, I'm going now, Jean," and she reached for his hand.
He was almost overcome, and could not look at her directly.
"Be strong, Jean. It will come out all right--it must come out all
right--"
"Oh, Agnes, this is too much. Forget it. You should not--"
"Please hush, Jean," she said imploringly, and he glanced up to see
tears in her eyes. She looked away to hide them. As she did so, she
cried: "Oh, Jean, I know what _they_ have been doing to you--how you
have been made to suffer. And--and--I--could _never_ stand to see it
after all--" she broke away then, and rushed from him and out of the
building. He watched her and when she was gone, he went back to the cot
and sat him down, and murmured.
"Agnes, oh, Agnes,--_and after all that has passed_!"