A TYPOGRAPHICAL ERROR.
When Chief of Police Hodgins learned that a prominent lawyer had come
from New York to take the case of the Camera Chap, he was somewhat
worried; but when he got a glimpse of Mr. Horatio Hands, his anxiety
vanished, and he expressed his opinion of that legal luminary by a
guffaw of derision.
“You just oughter to see him, Mr. Mayor,” he said to the Honorable
Martin Henkle. “He’s a little bit of a pink-whiskered runt that don’t
look as if he’s got nerve enough to swat a fly. I guess we ain’t got
nothin’ to fear from him.”
“Well, you can’t always go by appearances,” Mayor Henkle replied. “He
must be a pretty good lawyer, or that newspaper wouldn’t have sent him
here. However, we have no cause to worry that I can see. We’ve got a
clear cut-and-dried case against that fellow Hawley, and all the lawyers
in the world couldn’t keep him out of jail.”
Hodgins nodded. “Sure! He might as well plead guilty, and save the
court’s time. What defense can he offer? None that I can think of. By
the way, Mr. Mayor, I met my friend Timmins, the warden of the county
jail, on Main Street this morning. I spoke to him about that Camera
Chap, and Timmins has promised to make things hot for him when he
arrives there. Timmins has his own little ways of rubbing it into an
inmate of his institution when he don’t like him. I guess by the time
that young loafer gets through servin’ his time he’ll have had all the
chestiness taken out of him.”
Although Hawley, according to his legal rights, should have been brought
before a magistrate on the same day that he was arrested, he was not
taken to court until the following morning.
The delay was due to the explosion in the Chronicle Building. Hodgins
had been so busy working on that case that he had not had time to go to
court, eager though he was to see the Camera Chap’s case disposed of as
soon as possible.
The latter, with Carroll to keep him company, spent the night in the
cell at police headquarters. The next morning both of them were taken to
the police court, but while Hawley, his offense being only a
misdemeanor, was to have his fate settled right away in that court,
Carroll, being charged with a more serious crime, was to have merely a
preliminary examination.
The explosion in the Chronicle Building had created a lot of excitement
in Oldham, and the courtroom was crowded when the two newspaper men were
arraigned. The Honorable Martin Henkle was among those present. He sat
on the bench beside the magistrate, a smile of grim satisfaction upon
his face.
Carroll was the first to be given a hearing. As he was arraigned at the
bench, a little man with a reddish beard stepped briskly to his side.
“Who are you, sir?” the judge inquired.
“Counsel for the defense, your honor,” the little man answered, in a
shrill, piping voice that caused many in the courtroom to smile.
Chief Hodgins scowled. “But I thought you was the lawyer for the other
one--the camera feller,” he protested.
“I am not responsible for your thoughts, my friend,” the lawyer
retorted. “If I were, my responsibilities would be light. However, in
order to satisfy your curiosity, I don’t mind informing you that I have
been retained as counsel in both cases. Mr. Carroll has honored me by
asking me to look after his interests, too.”
The lawyer turned to the magistrate. “Your honor, in this case, although
I am convinced that my client’s arrest is an outrage, as we shall easily
prove later on, we will waive examination.”
“Very good, sir,” said the judge. “I will remand the prisoner to the
county jail, to await the action of the grand jury. Call the next case.”
“Frank Hawley to the bar!” yelled the court officer.
As the Camera Chap stepped forward, his eyes met those of the Honorable
Martin Henkle. The latter’s face wore an expression resembling that of a
cat which is about to swallow a canary. It was an exact duplicate of the
expression which at that moment adorned the countenance of Chief of
Police Hodgins.
It did not take the latter long to present his evidence against the
prisoner. Three recent victims of Hawley’s camera came forward, and
identified him as the man who had snapshotted them on the streets of
Oldham. Hodgins swore that these pictures had been taken without a
license.
Copies of the _Bulletin_ containing reproductions of these snapshots
were offered in evidence. Counsel for the defense asked to be permitted
to examine these exhibits. After he had glanced at them, the lawyer
addressed the court.
“Your honor,” he cried shrilly, “admitting that my client took those
snapshots without a license, I move that the case be dismissed on the
grounds that he has violated no law.”
The magistrate stared at him in astonishment. Mayor Henkle, rendered
vaguely uneasy by the lawyer’s confident tone, fidgeted nervously in his
seat. Chief Hodgins uttered a loud snort of contempt; never in all his
experience had he heard such bosh.
“On the grounds that he has violated no law?” the magistrate repeated
witheringly. “I don’t understand you, sir. It appears to the court that
the prisoner has violated the law prohibiting the taking of photographs
on the streets of Oldham without a license.”
“There is no such law, your honor,” squeaked the little attorney.
“What!” cried the magistrate fiercely. “You had better be careful, sir.
If you attempt to trifle with the dignity of this court you will quickly
find yourself committed for contempt. I don’t care if you come from New
York or----”
“There is no such law,” the counsel for the defense repeated, his voice
even more shrill than before. “If your honor will inspect the original
copy of the ordinance requiring the licensing of cameras, you will
realize the truth of my assertion.”
The judge frowned. “I think you had better explain, sir,” he said
sharply. “Your statements are most extraordinary. They almost warrant a
suspicion either that you are mentally unbalanced or that you have been
imbibing too freely. With one breath you say there is no camera law, and
with the next you ask me to inspect the original copy of the camera law.
How can I inspect it if there isn’t any?”
“I beg your pardon,” said the lawyer, with a smile. “I did not say that
there was no camera law. My contention is merely that there is no law
which forbids the taking of photographs on the street of Oldham without
a license.”
“Oh, indeed?” the magistrate sneered. “Then what does the law forbid--as
you understand it?”
“It forbids the taking of photographs of the streets of Oldham,” the
lawyer replied. “It’s wording is very clear.”
“Nonsense!” cried his honor peevishly. “It says on the streets, not of
the streets. Somebody has been misleading you.”
“Not at all, your honor. I have seen the original copy of the ordinance
myself. I had occasion to examine it less than an hour ago, and I was
very particular to notice its exact wording. If your honor will take the
trouble to inspect the original draft of the ordinance--the one which
was signed by the mayor--you will find that I am right.”
“If such is the case,” Mayor Henkle broke in, with a scowl, “it is
merely a typographical error. Everybody knows that it was the intention
of the framers of the ordinance to regulate the taking of photographs on
the streets of Oldham.”
“I am willing to concede that, sir,” counsel for the defense replied
smilingly. “But, fortunately for my client, intentions don’t count. The
use of the word of, instead of on, may be a typographical error, but the
law must be interpreted precisely as it reads. It isn’t by any means the
first time that a typographical error has saved a man from jail. I have
known cases where even a misplaced comma has had that result.”
Then he turned once more to the magistrate. “I repeat my motion, your
honor, that this case be dismissed. Since none of these snapshots which
my client is accused of taking--and which he admits having taken--is a
photograph of the streets of Oldham, he is guilty of no violation of the
law.”
The magistrate frowned. “We will adjourn court while we go and inspect
the original draft of the ordinance,” he announced. Then, turning to the
Honorable Martin Henkle, he whispered to that discomfited official’s
ear: “If this typographical error really does exist, Mr. Mayor, I am
afraid that we will have to throw the case out of court. As this lawyer
has said, the accused is entitled to a strict interpretation of the law.
If I decided otherwise, they would go to a higher court.”
Once more the Camera Chap’s phenomenal luck, which never seemed to
desert him when he was in tight places, had come to his rescue. The
carelessness of a typist in striking the letter “f” instead of the
letter “n,” and the fact that the mayor had put his signature and seal
to the document without noticing the error, enabled him to leave court,
half an hour later, a free man.
But Hawley did not give all the credit to his lucky star. When the
magistrate, returning from the vaults in which the original drafts of
Oldham’s ordinances were preserved, very ungraciously granted Lawyer
Hands’ motion that the case be dismissed, the Camera Chap turned to his
counsel with a grateful smile.
“I owe my liberty to you, sir,” he exclaimed. “I shan’t forget it in a
hurry. How on earth did you happen to guess that you would find that
mistake in the wording of the law?”
“Oh, I always make it a rule in cases of this sort to examine carefully
the original draft of the law, in the hope of finding some point on
which to base a legal technicality,” the lawyer replied. “I had no idea,
though, that I should find such a glaring typographical error as that.
You certainly are a very fortunate young man.”
“I surely am,” the Camera Chap agreed heartily. “I only hope that my
friend Carroll will be equally as fortunate.”