them. I could almost read his mind. Carton had said nothing directly
about the Black Book, and Murtha had caught himself just in time not to
betray anything about it.
"So," he shouted at last, "you are going to try some of those fine
little scientific tricks on us, are you?"
He was pacing up and down the room, storming and threatening by turns.
"I want to tell you, Carton," pursued Murtha, "that you're up against a
crowd who were playing this game before you were born. You reformers
think you are pretty smooth. But we know a thing or two about you and
what you are doing. Besides," he leaned over the desk again, "Carton,
there ain't many men that can afford to throw stones. I admit my life
hasn't been perfect--but, then I ain't posing as any saint. I don't
mind telling you that the organization, as you call it, is looking into
some of the things that you reformers have done. It may be that some of
your people--some of the ladies," he insinuated, "don't look on life in
the broad-minded way that some of the rest do. Mind you--I ain't making
any threats, but when it comes to gossip and scandal and
mud-slinging--look out for the little old organization--that's all!"
Carton had set his tenacious jaw. "You can go as far as you like,
Murtha," was all he said, with a grim smile.
Murtha looked at him a moment, then his manner changed.
"Carton," he said in a milder tone, at length, "what's the use of all
this bluffing? You and I understand each other. These men
understand--life. It's a game--that's what it is--a game. Sometimes one
move is right, sometimes another. You know what you want to accomplish
here in this city. I show you a way to do it. Don't answer me,"
persisted Murtha, raising a hand, "just--think it over."
Carton had taken a step forward, the tense look on his face unchanged.
"No," he exclaimed, and we could almost hear his jaw snap as if it had
been a trap. "No--I'll not think it over. I'll not yield an inch. Dopey
Jack goes to trial before election."
As Carton bit off the words, Murtha became almost beside himself with
rage and chagrin. He was white and red by turns. For a moment I feared
that he might do Carton personal violence.
"Carton," he ground out, as he reached the door, "you will regret this."
"I hope not," returned the other summoning with a mighty effort at
least the appearance of suavity. "Good-bye."
The only answer was the vicious slam which Murtha gave the door.
As the echo died, the District Attorney turned to us. "Apparently,
then, Dorgan did not secure the Black Book," was all he said, "even
supposing Dopey Jack planned and executed that robbery of Langhorne."
VIII
THE SHYSTER LAWYER
That's a declaration of war," remarked Kennedy, as Carton resumed his
seat at the desk unconcernedly after the stormy ending of the interview
with Murtha.
"I suppose it is," agreed the District Attorney, "and I can't say that
I am sorry."
"Nor I," added Craig. "But it settles one thing. We are now out in what
I call the 'open' investigation. They have forced us from cover. We
shall have to be prepared to take quick action now, whatever move they
may make."
Together we were speculating on the various moves that the System might
make and how we might prepare in advance for them.
Evidently, however, we were not yet through with these indirect
dealings with the Boss. The System was thorough, if nothing else, and
prompt. We had about decided to continue our conference over the dinner
table in some uptown restaurant, when the officer stationed in the hall
poked his head in the door and announced another visitor for the
District Attorney.
This time the entrance was exactly the opposite to the bluster of
Murtha. The man who sidled deferentially into the room, a moment after
Carton had said he would see him, was a middle-sized fellow, with a
high, slightly bald forehead, a shifty expression in his sharp ferret
eyes, and a nervous, self-confident manner that must have been very
impressive before the ignorant. "My name is Kahn," he introduced
himself. "I'm a lawyer."
Carton nodded recognition.
Although I had never seen the man before, I recollected the name which
Miss Kendall had mentioned. He was one of the best known lawyers of the
System. He had begun his career as an "ambulance chaser," had risen
later to the dignity of a police court lawyer, and now was of the type
that might be called, for want of a better name, a high class
"shyster"--unscrupulous, sharp, cunning.
Shyster, I believe, has been defined as a legal knave, a lawyer who
practises in an unprofessional or tricky manner. Kahn was all that--and
still more. If he had been less successful, he would have been the
black sheep of the overcrowded legal flock. Ideals he had none. His
claws reached out to grab the pittance of the poverty-stricken client
as well as the fee of the wealthy. He had risen from hospitals to
police courts, coroner's court, and criminal courts, at last attaining
the dignity of offices opposite an entrance to the criminal courts
building, from which vantage point his underlings surveyed the scene of
operations like vultures hovering over bewildered cattle.
Carton knew him. Kahn was the leader among some score of men more or
less well dressed, of more or less evil appearance, who are constantly
prowling from one end to the other of the broad first floor of the
criminal courts building during the hours of the day that justice is
being administered there.
These are the shyster lawyers and their runners and agents who prey
upon the men and women whom misfortune or crime have delivered into the
hands of the law. Others of the same species are wandering about the
galleries on other floors of the building, each with a furtive eye for
those who may be in trouble themselves or those who seem to be in need
of legal assistance for a relative or friend in trouble.
Perhaps the majority of lawyers practising in the courts are reputable
to the highest degree, and many of the rest merely to a safe degree.
Many devote themselves to philanthropic work whenever a prisoner is
penniless. But the percentage of shysters is high. Kahn belonged in the
latter class, although his days of doing dirty work himself were
passed. He had a large force of incipient shysters for that purpose. As
for himself, he handled only the big cases in which he veneered the
dirty work by a sort of finesse.
Kahn bowed and smiled ingratiatingly. "Mr. Carton," he began in a
conciliatory tone, "I have intruded on your valuable time in the
interest of my client, Mr. Jack Rubano."
"Huh!" grunted Carton. "So they've retained you, have they, Ike?" he
mused familiarly, closely regarding the visitor.
Kahn, far from resenting the familiarity, seemed rather to enjoy it and
take it as his due measure of fame.
"Yes, Mr. Carton, they have retained me. I have just had a talk with
the prisoner in the Tombs and have gone over his case very carefully,
sir."
Carton nodded, but said nothing, willing to let Kahn do the talking for
the present until he exposed his hand.
"He has told me all about his case," pursued Kahn evenly. "It is not
such a bad case. I can tell you that, Mr. Carton, because I didn't have
to resort to the 'friend of the judge' gag in order to show him that he
had a good chance."
Kahn looked knowingly at Carton. At least he was frank about his own
game before us; in fact, utterly shameless, it seemed to me. Probably
it was because he knew it was no use, that Carton had no illusions
about him. Still, there was an uncanny bravado about it all. Kahn was
indeed very successful in making the worst appear the better reason. He
knew it and knew that Carton knew it. That was his stock in trade.
He had seated himself in a chair by the District Attorney's desk and as
he talked was hitching it closer and closer, for men of Kahn's stamp
seem unable to talk without getting into almost personal contact with
those with whom they are talking. Carton drew back and folded his hands
back of his head as he listened, still silent.
"You know, Mr. Carton," he insinuated, "it is a very different thing to
be sure in your own mind that a man is guilty from being able to prove
it in court. There are all sorts of delays that may be granted,
witnesses are hard to hold together, in fact there are many
difficulties that arise in the best of cases."
"You don't need to tell me that, Kahn," replied Carton quietly.
"I know it, Mr. Carton," rejoined the other apologetically. "I was just
using that as a preface to what I have to say."
He took another hitch of the chair nearer Carton and lowered his voice
impressively. "The point, sir, at which I am driving is simply this.
There must be some way in which we can reach an agreement, compromise
this case, satisfactorily to the people with a minimum of time and
expense--some way in which the indictment or the pleadings can be
amended so that it can be wound up and--you understand--both of us
win--instead of dragging it out and perhaps you losing the case in the
end."
Carton shook his head. "No, Kahn," he said in a low tone, but firmly,
"no compromise."
Kahn bent his ferret eyes on Carton's face as if to bore through into
his very mind.
"No," added the District Attorney, "Murtha was just here, and I may as
well repeat what I said to him--although I might fairly assume that he
went from this room directly across the street to your office and that
you know it already. This case has gone too far, it has too many other
ramifications for me to consent to relax on it one iota."
Kahn was baffled, but he was cleverer than Murtha and did not show it.
"Surely," he urged, "you must realize that it is not worth your while
at such a critical time for yourself to waste energies on a case when
there are so many more profitable things that you could do. The fact is
that I would be the last one to propose anything that was not open and
above board and to our mutual advantage. There must be some way in
which we can reach an agreement which will be satisfactory to all
parties in interest, sir."
"Kahn," repeated Carton a little testily, "how often must I repeat to
you and your people that I am NOT going to compromise this case in any
shape, form, or manner? I am going to fight it out on the lines I have
indicated if I have to disrupt this entire office to get men to do it.
I have plenty to do seeking re-election, but my first duty is to act as
public prosecutor in the office to which I have been already elected.
Otherwise, it would be a poor recommendation to the people to return me
to the same position. No, you are merely wasting your time and ours
talking compromise."
Kahn had been surveying Carton keenly, now and then taking a shifty
glance at Kennedy and myself.
As Carton rapped out the last words, as if in the nature of an
ultimatum, Kahn gazed at him in amazement. Here was a man whom he knew
he could neither bribe, bully, or bulldoze.
"You must consider this, too," he added pointedly. "There has been a
good deal of mud-slinging in this campaign. We may find it necessary to
go back into the antecedents and motives of those who represent the
people in this case."
It was a subtle threat. Just what it implied I could not even guess,
nor did Carton betray anything by look or word. Carton had voluntarily
placed himself in the open and in a position from which he could not
retreat. Evidently, now, he was willing to force the fight, if the
other side would accept the issue. It meant much to him but he did not
balk at it.
"No, Kahn," he repeated firmly, "no compromise."
Kahn drew back a bit and hastily scanned the face of the prosecutor.
Evidently he saw nothing in it to encourage him. Yet he was too smooth
to let his temper rise, as Murtha had. By the same token I fancied him
a more dangerous opponent. There was something positively uncanny about
his assurance.
Kahn rose slowly. "Then it is war--without quarter?" asked Kahn
shrewdly.
"War--without quarter," repeated Carton positively.
He withdrew quietly, with an almost feline tread, quite in contrast
with the bluster of Murtha. I felt for the first time a sort of sinking
sensation, as I began to realize the varied character of the assault
that was preparing.
Not so, Carton and Kennedy. It seemed that every event that more
clearly defined our position and that of our opponents added zest to
the fight for them. And I had sufficient confidence in the combination
to know that their feelings were justified.
Carton silently pulled down and locked the top of his desk, then for a
moment we debated where we should dine. We decided on a quiet hotel
uptown and, leaving word where we could be found, hurried along for the
first real relaxation and refreshment after a crowded day's work.
If, however, we thought we could escape even for a few minutes we were
mightily mistaken. We had not fairly done justice to the roast when a
boy in buttons came down the line of tables.
"Mr. Carton--please."
The District Attorney crooked his finger at the page.
"You're wanted at the telephone, sir."
Carton rose and excused himself.
The message must have given him food of another kind, for when he
returned after a long absence, he pushed aside the now cold roast and
joined us in the coffee and cigars.
"One of my men," he announced, "has been doing some shadowing for me.
Evidently, both Murtha and Kahn having failed, they are resorting to
other tactics. It looks as if they had in some way, probably from some
corrupt official of the court or employee in charge of the jury list,
obtained a copy of the panel which Justice Pomeroy has summoned for the
case."
"It ought to be a simple thing to empanel another set of talesmen and
let these fellows serve in some other part of the court," I suggested,
considering the matter hastily.
"Much better to let it rest as it is," cut in Craig quickly, "and try
to catch Kahn with the goods. It would be great to catch one of these
clever fellows trying to 'fix' the jury, as well as intimidate
witnesses, as he already hinted himself."
"Just the thing," exclaimed Carton, whose keen sense of proportion
showed what a valuable political asset such a coup would make in
addition to its effect on the case.
"We'll get Kahn right, if we have a chance," planned Craig. "You are
acquainted more or less with his habits, I suppose. Where does Kahn
hang out? Most fellows like him have a sort of Amen Corner where they
meet their henchmen, issue orders, receive reports and carry on
business that wouldn't do for an office downtown."
"Why, I believe he goes to Farrell's--has an interest in the place, I
think."
Farrell's, we recognized, as a rather well-known all-night cafe which
managed to survive the excise vicissitudes by dint of having no cabaret
or entertainment.
We finished the dinner in silence, Kennedy turning various schemes over
in his mind, and rejecting them one after another.
"There's nothing we can do immediately, I suppose," he remarked at
length. "But if you and Carton care to come up to the laboratory with
me, I might in time of peace prepare for war. I have a little apparatus
up there which I think may fit in somehow and if it does, Mr. Kahn's
days of jury fixing are numbered."
A few minutes later, we found ourselves in Kennedy's laboratory, where
he had gathered together an amazing collection of paraphernalia in the
warfare of science against crime which he had been waging during the
years that I had known him.
Carton looked about in silent admiration. As for myself, although one
might have thought it was an old story with me, I had found that no
sooner had I become familiar with one piece of apparatus to perform one
duty, than another situation, entirely different and unprecedented in
our cases arose which called for another, entirely new. I had learned
to have implicit confidence in Kennedy's ability to meet each new
emergency with something fully capable of solving the problem.
From a cabinet, Kennedy took out what looked like the little black
leather box of a camera, with, however, a most peculiar looking lens.
IX
THE JURY FIXER
"Let's visit Farrell's," remarked Craig, after looking over the
apparatus and slinging it over his shoulder.
It was early yet, and the theatres were not out, so that there were
comparatively few people in the famous all-night cafe. We entered the
bar cautiously and looked about. Kahn at least was not there.
In the back of this part of the cafe were several booths, open to
conform to the law, yet sufficiently screened so that there was at
least a little privacy.
Above the booths was a line of transoms.
"What's back there?" asked Kennedy, under his breath.
"A back room," returned Carton.
"Perhaps Kahn is there," Craig suggested. "Walter, you're the one whom
he would least likely recognize. Suppose you just stick your head in
the door and look about as quietly as you can."
I lounged back, glanced at the records of sporting events posted on the
wall at the end of the bar, then, casually, as if looking for someone,
swung the double-hinged door that led from the bar into the back room.
The room was empty except for one man, turned sidewise to the door,
reading a paper, but in a position so that he could see anyone who
entered. I had not opened the door widely enough to be noticed, but I
now let it swing back hastily. It was Kahn, pompously sipping something
he had ordered.
"He's back there," I whispered to Kennedy, as I returned, excitedly
motioning toward one of the transoms over the booths back of which Kahn
was seated.
"Right there?" he queried.
"Just about," I answered.
A moment later Kennedy led the way over to the booth under the transom
and we sat down. A waiter hovered near us. Craig silenced him quickly
with a substantial order and a good-sized tip.
From our position, if we sat well within the booth, we were effectually
hidden unless someone purposely came down and looked in on us. We
watched Kennedy curiously. He had unslung the little black camera-like
box and to it attached a pair of fine wires and a small pocket storage
battery which he carried.
Then he looked up at the transom. It was far too high for us to hear
through, even if those in the back room talked fairly loud. Standing on
the leather wall seats of the booth to listen or even to look over was
out of the question, for it would be sure to excite suspicion among the
waiters, or the customers who were continually passing in and out of
the place.
Kennedy was watching his chance, and when the cafe emptied itself after
being deluged between the acts from a neighbouring theatre, he jumped
up quickly in the seat, stood on his toes and craned his neck through
the diagonally opened transom. Before any of the waiters, who were busy
clearing up the results of the last theatre raid, had a chance to
notice him, Craig had slipped the little black box into the shadow of
the corner.
From it dangled down the fine wires, not noticeable.
"He's sitting just back of us yet," reported Kennedy. "I don't know
about that flaming arc light in the middle of the room, but I think it
will be all right. Anyhow, we shall have to take a chance. It looks to
me as if he were waiting for someone--didn't it to you, Walter?"
I nodded acquiescence.
"He has wasted no time in getting down to work," put in Carton, who had
been a silent spectator of the preparations of Kennedy. "What's that
thing you put on the ledge up there--a detectaphone?"
Kennedy smiled. "No--they're too clever to do any talking, at least in
a place like this, I'm afraid," he said, carefully hiding the wires and
the battery beside him in the shadow of the corner of the booth. "It
may be that nothing will happen, anyhow, but if it does we can at least
have the satisfaction of having tried to get something. Carton, you had
better sit as far back in the booth as I am. The longer we can stay
here unnoticed the better. Let Walter sit on the outside."
We changed places.
"Lawyers have been complaining to me lately," remarked Carton in a well
modulated voice, "about jury fixing. Some of them say it has been going
on on a large scale and I have had several of my county detectives
working on it. But they haven't landed anything yet,--except rumours,
like this one about the Dopey Jack jury. I've had them out posing as
jurymen who could be 'approached' and would arrange terms for other
bribable jurymen."
"And you mean to say that that's going on right here in this city?" I
asked, scenting a possible newspaper story.
"This campaign I have started," he replied, "is only the beginning of
our work in breaking up the organized business of jury bribing. I mean
to put an end to the work of what I have reason to believe is a secret
ring of jury fixers. Why, I understand that the prices for 'hanging' a
jury range all the way from five to five hundred dollars, or even
higher in an important case. The size of the jury fixer's 'cut' depends
upon the amount the client is willing to pay for having his case made
either a disagreement or a dismissal. Usually a bonus is demanded for a
dismissal in criminal cases. But such things are very difficult to--"
"Sh!" I cautioned, for from my vantage point I saw two men approaching.
They saw me in the booth, but not the rest of us, and turned to enter
the next one. Though they were talking in low tones, we could catch
words and phrases now and then, which told us that we ourselves would
have to be very careful about being overheard.
"We've got to be careful," one of them remarked in a scarcely audible
undertone. "Carton has detectives mingling with the talesmen in every
court of importance in the city."
The reply of the other was not audible, but Carton leaned over to us
and whispered, "One of Kahn's runners, I think."
Apparently Kahn was taking extreme precautions and wanted everything in
readiness so that whatever was to be done would go off smoothly.
Kennedy glanced up at the little black leather box perched high above
on the sill of the partition.
"The chief says that a thousand dollars is the highest price that he
can afford for 'hanging' this jury--providing you get on it, or any of
your friends."
The other man, whose voice was not of the vibrating, penetrating
quality of the runner, seemed to hesitate and be inclined to argue.
"We've had 'em as low as five dollars," went on the runner, at which
Carton exchanged a knowing glance with us. "But in a special case, like
this, we realize that they come high."
The other man grumbled a bit and we could catch the word, "risky."
Back and forth the argument went. The runner, however, was a worthy
representative of his chief, for at last he succeeded in carrying both
his point and his price.
"All right," we heard him say at last, "the chief is in the back room.
Wait until I see whether he is alone."
The runner rose and went around to the swinging door. From the other
side of the transom we could, as we had expected, hear nothing. A
moment later the runner returned.
"Go in and see him," he whispered.
The man rose and made his way through the swinging door into the back
room.
None of us said a word, but Kennedy was literally on his toes with
excitement. He was holding the little battery in his hand and after
waiting a few moments pressed what looked like a push button.
He could not restrain his impatience longer, but had jumped up on the
leather seat and for a moment looked at the black leather box, then
through the half open transom, as best he could.
"Press it--press it!" he whispered to Carton, pointing at the push
button, as he turned a little handle on the box, then quickly dropped
down and resumed his seat.
"Craig--one of the waiters," I cried hurriedly.
The outside bar had been filling up as the evening advanced and the
sight of a man standing on one of the seats had attracted the attention
of a patron. A waiter had followed his curious gaze and saw Kennedy.
With a quick pull on the wire, Kennedy jerked the black leather box
from its high perch and deftly caught it as it fell.
"Say--what are youse guys doin', huh?" demanded the waiter pugnaciously.
Carton and I had risen and stood between the man and Craig.
The sound of voices in high pitch was enough to attract a crowd ever
ready to watch a scrap. Mindful of the famous "flying wedge" of waiters
at Farrell's for the purpose of hustling objectionable and obstreperous
customers with despatch to the sidewalk, I was prepared for anything.
The runner who was sitting alone in the next booth, leaned out and
gazed around the corner into ours.
"Carton!" he shouted in a tone that could have been heard on the street.