Lyon was distinctly nervous when he got away from Bede and had time to
reflect on their conversation. Two things were evident,--that Bede
knew about Fullerton's former relation with Miss Wolcott and that he
suspected Lyon of knowing more of the situation than the miscellaneous
public. Was it possible that he was trying to connect Miss Wolcott
with the woman who had called upon Fullerton that evening and had gone
out with him? Lyon was satisfied in his own mind that the woman was
Mrs. Broughton, but Bede was certainly justified in entertaining the
other hypothesis, since he knew nothing about Mrs. Broughton. Would he
give his hypothesis to the public? That was exactly what Lawrence had
been so anxious to prevent that he had refused to clear himself of the
charge of murder,--if, as Lyon believed, he was really not implicated.
Was his sacrifice to be for nothing? Lyon saw, at any rate, that he
himself must be wary in his movements, since it was evident that Bede
was thoroughly alive to as much of the situation as he knew.
He had received a note from Howell, Lawrence's lawyer, asking him to
call at his office, and he turned in that direction now. His way,
however, took him past the jail, and he took the opportunity to carry
out the scriptural injunction to visit those in prison. Poor Lawrence
must need a little cheering up.
But poor Lawrence greeted him with a gayety that did not suggest the
need of sympathy. Indeed, his eyes were dancing with triumph.
"Do you see my flowers, old man?" he cried jubilantly.
A huge bunch of long-stemmed roses, still in the florist's box, was
filling the cell with color and fragrance.
"Who sent them?" asked Lyon suspiciously.
"Devil a card or a scrap of writing with them."
"Oh, then it's merely because you have become a celebrity," said Lyon,
indifferently. "Silly women are always sending flowers to the
principals in any murder case."
"Bad luck to you, you're jealous," cried Lawrence. "If you are going
to slander my roses after that fashion, you can go,--go and get me a
dictionary of the flower language. I want to find out what American
Beauties mean,--when they come without a card."
"I'd like to know myself," said Lyon, taking note of the florist's
name on the box.
Lawrence looked at him with mischievous eyes, that still were dancing
with happiness. "Oh, but you are slow of imagination, Lyon," he said,
softly.
Lyon concluded that he was not needed at that moment as a cheerer of
those in prison, so he got away, and hunted up Howell's office in a
tall office building down town. He was taken into the lawyer's private
office, where he found Howell with his hands behind his back, staring
moodily through the window into a dingy court, instead of deep in his
books as a lawyer is supposed to be. There was exasperation and
protest in every line of his figure. He turned to nod to Lyon without
relaxing his gloom.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Lyon. Sit down. I asked you to call in
connection with this case of Lawrence's."
"Yes."
"Have you any influence with him?"
"I doubt it," said Lyon, with a smile. "I don't think that he allows
many men to exert an influence upon him."
"At any rate, you are a friend of his?"
"Most certainly,--so far as I am concerned. I am rather too new a
friend to feel that I have much right to claim the title."
Howell regarded him frowningly though with what was evidently intended
for good-will.
"I think you will understand me, Mr. Lyon, when I say that a more
pig-headed, exasperating, obstinate client never fell to my lot. He
doesn't remember. He can't say. What I need in preparing my defense is
not a law library so much as a kit of burglar's tools. I have got to
break into his mind somehow. He is hiding something. Do you know what
it is?"
Lyon reflected that Bede had not asked that question. Bede had known!
He must still keep faith with Lawrence, who had trusted him; but was
it not possible to help Lawrence against his will through this lawyer?
He picked his way carefully.
"I don't really know very much, Mr. Howell. I guess at some things,
and I shall be glad to lay my little knowledge before you. But first,
tell me, is Lawrence's situation really dangerous?"
"Yes," said Howell tersely. "You see, an alibi is out of the question.
He has admitted that he was in the neighborhood. Donohue's testimony
shows that he might easily have been on the very spot. Certainly he
was not far from it. Yet he offers no explanation as to what he was
doing there. That Fullerton could have been struck down--there must
have been some sort of an altercation--and Lawrence neither see nor
hear anything, is certainly curious. That his cane should have been
found on the spot is certainly unfortunate. That he should have
publicly slapped Fullerton's face that morning is the devil's own
luck. Frankly, Mr. Lyon, unless I can in some way discover the actual
facts of that night's proceedings, the prospects for clearing Lawrence
are not cheerful. Of course, the facts may not help him,--but if that
is the case it is even more important that I should know them. I can't
work in the dark. Now, do you know, yourself, what Lawrence was doing
that night?"
"No."
"You didn't see him?"
"Not until the crowd had gathered."
Howell looked disappointed. "I hoped that possibly you might be able
to give me the facts that he is withholding."
"Isn't it possible that he is withholding nothing,--that there is
nothing to withhold?"
"It is possible, but if that is the situation, it is a malicious
conspiracy on the part of fate to trap an innocent man. It will be
difficult to make a jury believe he is as ignorant as he wants us to
think. No, as far as I can see into the situation, our only hope is
that there is a woman in the case and that we can work the jury for
emotional sympathy." He looked keenly at Lyon.
"You may think it a wild notion," said Lyon, "but I have an idea that
possibly there is a woman in the case, though Lawrence doesn't know
anything about her. I was in Fullerton's rooms at the Wellington this
morning,--"
"How did you get in?"
"Blarneyed the janitor. On the table I found a handkerchief that is
the mate of one I have seen in the hand of Mrs. Woods Broughton."
"Well?"
"On the table was a transcript of the divorce proceedings in the case
of Grace Vanderburg v. William H. Vanderburg. You know, of course,
that Grace Vanderburg is now Mrs. Woods Broughton."
Howell nodded.
"There were a number of books on divorce on the table, as though he
had just been looking up the subject,--or discussing it with a client.
You know Fullerton was Mrs. Vanderburg's attorney."
"You are leading up to something."
"This. The elevator boy gave me a more particular description of the
woman who left the Wellington with Fullerton that evening than Donohue
was able to give. I feel sure that woman was Mrs. Broughton."
"Mrs. Broughton is not in Waynscott."
"Yes. She is staying with Miss Elliott on Locust Avenue."
"But the papers have not mentioned it. Are you sure?"
"She is very quiet,--under the care of Dr. Barry, and suffering from a
nervous shock which dates from Monday night."
Howell's foot tapped nervously upon the floor. "But this is amazing,
if not incredible. How do you come to know it,--or think you know it?"
"I have seen and talked with Mrs. Broughton."
"You!"
"Yes. She sent for me to ask for information about Lawrence. She said
she had been distressed by the news of the murder, and as Lawrence was
an old friend she was anxious to learn what danger he stood in,--if I
could tell her anything more than the reports in the papers. That's
about all."
"All!" exclaimed Howell, excitedly. "What more would you want, in the
name of wonder? The woman who was in Fullerton's company--"
"That's merely my guess, you remember. But the elevator boy described
a chain she wore, and her manner of speaking very accurately."
"When did you see her?"
"Last night."
"You must take me to her immediately. Here you have wasted hours--"
Lyon shook his head. "Dr. Barry has forbidden her seeing anyone. He
fears serious nervous disturbance,--mental derangement, in fact. She
has evidently had a severe nervous shock."
"Does Dr. Barry know what you have told me?"
"No."
"Does anyone know?"
"No."
"Not even Lawrence?"
"No. I didn't know just what effect it might have upon--his policy of
silence. In fact, I didn't know how to proceed farther, until I had
consulted you."
Howell smiled grimly. "I am glad you allowed me some share in handling
the matter. From the way you have been going on, I didn't know but
what you were going to take the case out of my hands entirely. Now,
how soon can I see Mrs. Broughton?"
"I don't know, but not immediately. I saw Dr. Barry this morning. He
thinks her condition serious. I told him I wanted to see her as soon
as possible, but he warned me not to attempt it until he gave me
leave." And he described the scene he had gone through the evening
before, when Mrs. Broughton went into hysterics.
Howell looked serious. "I see. Of course I can't force myself upon a
woman in that condition. And until I know exactly what her testimony
is going to be, I don't want to have her appear in the case at all. It
is possible, of course, that after I have talked with her my chief
care will be to have her out of the way of the prosecution. I can't
tell _what_ I shall do until I have seen her. If only Bede does not
stumble upon this,--"
"I came upon Bede in Fullerton's rooms this morning. I don't think he
has thought of identifying the woman with Mrs. Broughton."
"Although you have?"
"Well, I had the advantage of knowing that Mrs. Broughton was in town.
I don't think Bede does."
"How did you find it out?"
"By a sort of accident. I was at Miss Elliott's School, making some
inquiries about the school, and Miss Elliott let it out." Lyon
breathed a little more freely when that dangerous question was passed.
Howell tapped his underlip thoughtfully with his long forefinger.
"You have given me a most important suggestion, Mr. Lyon. Of course it
may lead up to nothing. Even if Mrs. Broughton was the woman whom
Donohue saw with Fullerton, it doesn't follow that she was still with
him when the tragedy occurred. Indeed, it is more than unlikely,
because if she knew anything about the affair, a woman of her standing
and character would have spoken out at once. She would have nothing to
fear."
Lyon said absolutely nothing, but Howell, watching him, caught some
unspoken thought and turned upon him with swift amaze.
"You don't mean--"
"No, no, no," said Lyon. "I am sure not."
But Howell looked thoughtful. "He was her attorney in that divorce
suit, and you say that the table was covered with books on divorce,
and she had been there to consult him, as is evidenced by her
handkerchief. If there was anything irregular about that divorce and
he knew about it, and threatened to use that knowledge-- It is not
impossible to believe that Fullerton might resort to blackmail on
occasion. He was very hard up and Mrs. Broughton is a very wealthy
woman,--so long as her marriage is not impugned. And if we suppose for
a moment that that was the situation, it is not difficult to go a step
further and imagine that his death would be a great relief to her,--so
great that it might have taken the form of a swift temptation. The
blow may have been a sudden, desperate impulse, and it would not have
been beyond the strength of a woman, even a slight woman. But the
means,--the cane?"
"It has occurred to me as a bare possibility that Fullerton may have
been carrying the cane himself, and that his assailant may have
wrested it from him. You remember Lawrence's testimony that he had the
cane in the library a few days before, and that, owing to an excited
discussion with Fullerton, he did not remember whether he took it away
with him or whether he left it there. Suppose he left it there, and
Fullerton picked it up, it might have happened that he had it with him
on that evening."
Howell started to his feet and paced the room in suppressed
excitement.
"It may be utterly fantastic and incredible," he said finally, pausing
before Lyon and looking at him with abstracted eyes, "but it is the
first possible gleam of an outlet that I have seen in any direction. I
must follow it up. I must see Mrs. Broughton just as soon as possible.
I am walking on a mine until I know what she has to say for herself.
It may all amount to nothing. It may be of the most vital importance.
Now how can I be sure of knowing the earliest moment that I can risk
demanding an interview without danger to her health?"
"I know Dr. Barry."
"But you can't tell Dr. Barry why you want to know. It is important
that not the slightest hint of this should reach the other side. Of
course Bede may work it out for himself. He is not a fool. Quite the
contrary. We have to take our chances on that. But we don't want to
help him. And if by chance Mrs. Broughton should have nothing to
confess except that she saw Lawrence assault Fullerton, we don't want
to help Bede to that bit of testimony. It is quite on the cards that
that is what she will have to tell me, too. Have you considered that?"
"I don't think she will," said Lyon slowly.
"Do you happen to have any reason for that assurance? Your theories
are interesting, young man. If you have any more of them in reserve,
I'd like to hear them."
But Lyon shook his head. "My theory is based on the assumption that
Lawrence really knows no more about the affair than he has told you."
"I hope it may prove so," said Howell, somewhat dubiously. "In the
meantime, bear in mind that I must have a chance to see Mrs. Broughton
quietly at the earliest possible moment. Good Lord, man, the Grand
Jury meets in ten days from now. Now, have you any suggestions as to
how that interview can be arranged without notice to the public and
without any chance of a slip-up?"
"I have just secured a letter of introduction to one of the pupils in
Miss Elliott's School,--Miss Kittie Tayntor," said Lyon. "I thought
that it might prove useful in keeping in close touch with the
situation."
Howell's gray eyes twinkled appreciatively. "It strikes me that you
are wasted as a mere newspaper man. You have talents. Go ahead and
improve your acquaintance with Miss Kittie. That is safer than to
depend upon Dr. Barry, because he might be biassed. He might think it
advisable to get Mrs. Broughton away quietly, without letting you know
about her movements. Of course a woman of her prominence can't be
lost, but on the other hand, if she wanted to get out of reach, she
could make it difficult for us to find her. It is much better that we
keep watch on her movements without letting her suspect that fact."
"I'll do my best," said Lyon.
"And that is a good deal," said Howell, with a sincerity that made
Lyon flush with pleasure.
When Lyon left Howell's office, he went around to the florist whose
name he had noted on the box of roses in Lawrence's room. After
selecting a boutonnière and admiring the seasonable display of
flowers, he asked casually,
"By the way. Maxwell, who sent those roses to Lawrence,--Arthur
Lawrence, you know?"
"I'd like to know myself," said the florist, waking up to sudden
interest. "I don't have such an order as that every day."
"Why, what was there unusual about it?"
"Well, hundred dollar bills are unusual in my business, and it isn't
often that I get a letter with a hundred dollars in it and no name
signed to it, with orders to send flowers till the money is used up
and more will be coming."
"That does sound uncommon. I'd like to see that letter, if you have it
around."
"Oh, yes, I kept it as a curiosity." He opened a drawer in his desk
and threw a letter on the counter before Lyon. Lyon's first glance at
it showed him plainly enough that the brief note was written in the
same large, angular handwriting that had marked the note which he had
himself received from Mrs. Woods Broughton. As he picked it up to
examine it more closely, an unfortunate accident occurred. A man who
had entered the shop shortly after Lyon and who had possibly overheard
their conversation, had come up close to Lyon's elbow, and now leaned
forward suddenly as though to look at the note over his shoulder. His
hasty movement upset a vase of flowers on the counter. The vase was
broken, the flowers scattered over the floor, and the water poured
over Lyon's cuff and hand, as well as over the note which he had just
picked up. The man was profuse in his apologies, and supplemented
Lyon's handkerchief by his own to remove the traces of the deluge.
Somehow in the momentary confusion the note itself was lost sight of,
but Lyon had seen enough to satisfy him that this munificent order for
flowers was simply another indication of Mrs. Broughton's interest in
Lawrence and his situation.
Lawrence had wondered what the roses might mean in the language of
flowers. Lyon could not help wondering whether they spelled "Remorse."