"And--and the prosecutor's goin' to lock me up after all I've done for
him?"
"That's what!" replied the officer, and a moment later added
complacently: "Unless you can get bail."
"Confound 'em!" exclaimed Pemmican. "They won't go my bail!"
The detective placed his ear quite close to Pemmican.
"_Who_ won't go your bail?" he queried interestedly.
Pemmican smiled.
"They," he returned, not for an instant off his guard.
"If Prosecutor Murgatroyd only knew who _they_ are," went on the
detective, "if he knew who backed you up, there'd be some interesting
goings on 'round here."
"He won't find out from me," replied Pemmican, doggedly. "I play a
straight game with the men who hand out my bread and butter. You can lay
your bets on that!"
"Sh-h-h-! The prosecutor's talkin' over there," whispered the detective,
raising his hand, and he hustled the prisoner out of the room, as
Murgatroyd, rising once more, bowed toward the bench and announced:--
"The State rests, if the Court please."
And then Thorne at his end of the table also rose to his feet and
declared:--
"The defence rests."
Presently he began to address the Jury. During the trial his line of
defence had been insanity--the defence of the defenceless, the forlorn
hope of the hopeless. The Bench had frowned at it; the Jury had shaken
its head as one man: insanity to juries in the metropolis had become as
a red rag to a bull. But the crowd in the court-room had leaned forward
with huge expectation,--waiting for the hidden places to be revealed
with much the same anticipation and interest one experiences in waiting
for the denouement of a stage drama.
Before turning to the jury, however, for his last effort, Thorne stooped
down for an instant and whispered to Mrs. Challoner:--
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Challoner, that we couldn't do better with our facts.
It seems to me to be the weakest defence I have ever seen put up in any
case. Indeed, it seems to me we have no defence at all."
But somewhat to his astonishment this remark was received by Miriam
Challoner with that same degree of confidence that had characterised her
attitude all through the trial. On her face was a certain unexplainable
something which not only he had noted but which the people had noted,
the men at the press-table had noted, and commented upon freely in their
copy--a glow that had never faded from the eyes of the woman, a flush
upon her cheek that had never paled, and which said more plainly than
words that she was certain of the acquittal of her husband.
"Devilish fine actress!" Thorne thought to himself, for such optimism in
a case like this was wholly beyond his comprehension; and it was with a
certain feeling of admiration that he heard her whisper with a
reassuring smile:--
"You're making a glorious fight, Mr. Thorne; you're bound to succeed."
And indeed, such was her marvellous hopefulness, that it succeeded in
enheartening him, and was reflected in his illustrations to the jury
when dwelling at some length on the many fine points in the character of
the accused. He was particularly happy in impressing upon his hearers
that Challoner was a man with a most peculiar temperament and mental
bias; that if Challoner had taken the life of Colonel Hargraves, it was
only after the man's soul and mind had eaten poison from the hands of
his enemy--Colonel Hargraves.
Of the life and character of that gentleman, he had little to add to
what was already known, and was seemingly content to dismiss him with:--
"The least said of him the better, now that he is gone."
Thorne paused.
Suddenly he assumed a dramatic pose, and now turning toward a beautiful
and fashionably gowned young woman with a bar of sunlight streaming down
her face, who occupied a seat underneath the third high window in the
court-room, he riveted his gaze on her, all eyes following in that
direction.
"There," he said, his voice sinking to a whisper, but a whisper that
could be heard all over the court-room, "is the woman in the case--the
real culprit! A temptress! A vampire! A Circe! A woman who has made a
mess of the lives of two men, and only God knows how many others! A
woman who played the game to her own selfish ends!... And here you have
the result!"
For a full minute Letty Love unblushingly returned the lawyer's probing
glances; plainly she rejoiced in the stares which she felt were focused
upon her,--for no one knew better than she that her beauty was infecting
all present,--and it was not until she had drunk her fill of the cup of
publicity that she turned her head away and looked out upon the sunlit
street.
From where he sat Challoner, too, was able for a brief moment to see the
face of the woman who was responsible for his misfortunes. That same
second, however, brought his wife also into his line of vision, making
it possible for him to contrast the two countenances; and he was
surprised to find himself not only admiring the wealth of colouring and
glow upon Miriam's face, but actually loathing himself for ever having
admired the ugly lines which he now saw on the sunlit face of Letty
Love; and his whole nature revolted against her.
"If only I had left her to Colonel Hargraves," he muttered to himself;
and immersed in similar bitter reflections, he lost all but his
counsel's concluding words:--
"... and all that I want, all that I ask of you, gentlemen of the jury,
is that you give us what we have not had so far--a fair, square deal!"
Thorne sat down, satisfied that he had made an impression. At all
events, he had done the best he could--under the circumstances. Out of
his material he had hewn the inevitable result--debauchery; out of this
debauchery he fashioned the conclusion--insanity; out of a victim he had
made a murderer; out of a murderer he had made a hero whose
irresponsible emotions cried out to a jury of his peers for justice,
even for retribution against the murdered man. Base metal though it
were, it seemed pure gold to his listeners. Even the jurors drew long
breaths and looked each other questioningly in the eye; the crowd
murmured its sympathy; and Thorne, glancing at the little coterie behind
the prisoner, was pleased to see that even in the eyes of Shirley
Bloodgood he had raised a new hope for Challoner.
In the interim that followed Shirley and Miriam leaned over and shook
hands with Thorne.
"We can't lose," whispered Miriam; and again there returned to her face
that mysterious expression of confidence which was decidedly
inexplicable to her lawyer. And so it was that a little while later he
turned to Shirley and said:--
"Does she understand that we must lose?"
Miss Bloodgood shook her head.
"Oh, no! No one can tell her that." And bestowing on him a rare smile,
she added: "And now, Mr. Thorne, after what you have said no one can
tell _me_ that either."
Well pleased with her flattery, Thorne returned the smile, but he warned
her that when those twelve men got into the jury room they would get
down to facts.
And it so happened that the twelve men got down to the facts before they
even started for the jury room, for already the prosecutor had begun his
speech and was stripping the case of everything save the truth.
"This, gentlemen," he now told the jury, quietly, "is not an unusual
case; it's an every-day story growing out of jealousy and hatred; one
bad man shot another bad man--that's all."
At this the temperature of the crowd dropped from the fever-heat of
frenzied sympathy down to the freezing-point of common-sense. Challoner
stirred uneasily; Shirley Bloodgood shivered; only Miriam Challoner sat
with the same placid look on her face.
Murgatroyd now left his jury, walked to the table where the prisoner
sat, and without taking his eyes from the face of the accused, he
continued:--
"... This man Challoner is a wilful, deliberate murderer! This is not
his first offence--he began to murder years ago...."
At this point the prosecutor went back to the time when Challoner
married a beautiful young girl, emphasising the fact that he had married
this mere slip of a girl for her money.
"Her money! And he has never earned a dollar since!" he told his
listeners with great scorn. "And his life! What has he made of it? Ah!
You men know the things that are done in this city between midnight and
morning, and the up-hill fight that is being made to clean it of
corruption and vice! Well, this degenerate, this profligate, did these
things of the under-world. They appealed to him; he was no mere youth to
be led astray!"
Challoner winced; not that he quailed before the menacing posture that
the prosecutor had assumed, but because of a guilty consciousness that
the accusing lips meant every word that they uttered. The audience
shifted uneasily in their seats; Shirley Bloodgood held her breath as
she placed a protecting arm about Miriam, which Miriam gently shook off;
for what need had she for sympathy?
Murgatroyd returned to his place in front of the jury rail, and briefly
reviewed the evidence.