The trial had been going hard with Darcy, as little Lib had surmised.
Even the old Judge had been crabbed in some of his orders, and thrown
anxious glances among the witnesses searching in vain for some ray of
hope. He loved Darcy and things seemed to be going against him.
Not for one minute in his heart of hearts did Judge Peterson believe
that Darcy Sherwood was guilty of such things as he was being charged
with, and when he stood up straight and handsome in the prisoner’s box
to answer to the question: “Guilty or not Guilty?” he had admired the
straight, clear look with which he faced the roomful of curious enemies
and anxious friends. Slowly Darcy had swept the room with his glance as
if searching for one on whom he could rely. Anxiously his eyes rested
on his sister Ellen, sitting huddled behind her handkerchief, and on
the little shrinking Lib, looking so fierce beside her, surprisedly
on the minister and his wife, taking in their kindly faces, something
true and real about them. He knew they were Joyce’s friends and he
liked their being there. There was nothing hostile about them. Then
his gaze wandered to the four men huddled together in a corner with
Tyke spreading himself as their leader, making loud mouthed remarks
and casting furtive, sidelong glances, keeping his eyes away from the
prisoner. Darcy took them in half amusedly, wholly comprehending,
almost a smile of contempt flitting across his face, before he turned
deliberately and faced his enemy, Gene, and looked him keenly down
with a cold, righteous glance. Then he turned back to the Judge and
said quietly, “Not Guilty, Your Honor,” as if there had been no pause
between the question and the answer. The Judge found himself watching
the boy and wondering where he got his poise, his cool calm look, that
might almost be described as that of peace.
From the start Darcy sat in his place and watched each actor in the
little scene before him as if he were somehow outside of it all,
detached from the whole thing, as if the outcome were of little moment
to him, only the persons.
Darcy had not asked for a lawyer. In fact, he had refused one. He would
not ask anybody to help him, nor tell anything that would give a clue
to where he had been or what he had been doing. He had told them he
would plead his own cause when the time came.
So the evidence went on. Witnesses were sworn in and testified to the
most unpleasant details in a well constructed tale of horror. Tyke was
clever, but Bill was sharp, and what the two of them could not think
out the canny Cottar did. They had left no question unprepared for, no
weak places in their line of evidence. They even had an old flashlight
of Darcy’s they had found where he had left it last at one of their
meeting places, and most carefully had they preserved it without
handling that the finger prints might be observed. Obligingly Darcy put
out his fingers for the impression, that smile of half amusement on
his lips. So well he understood the revenge that was working all this
elaborate network of lies to catch him.
Yet as the evidence went on he began to realize how cleverly it had
been done, and how only a miracle of some kind could save him. He
sat gravely watching it all, listening. Now and then jotting down a
note for his own reply when his time came, but for the most part,
gravely listening, and the day went on and blacker grew the evidence
against him. The excitement in the court-room was great. There were not
wanting gruesome details and Darcy’s face grew stern and his soul sick
within him. To think that Joyce should, through him, be mixed up in a
loathsome mess like this! He would rather have died a thousand deaths
than to have had her name connected in such wise.
The spectators were strained to the highest point. Nan, heavily veiled
and weeping, was most affected. When it came her turn to testify she
told of the beautiful relation between herself and Joyce, but said that
Joyce was very secretive and went out a good deal evenings, staying
late. Once during Bill’s blunt testimony she screamed and fainted and
had to be taken out, but insisted on coming back again. And hourly the
look of suffering grew on Darcy’s face, as if the ordeal were actual
physical pain. But once, there was a little relaxing of the strain,
when old Noah Casey took the stand, and was asked to swear that he
would tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
He climbed into his place and laid a trembling, knotted hand upon the
book, but when they asked him to swear he smiled about upon them and
shook his head.
“My mother taught me not to swear,” he said serenely, while the four
who were sponsoring him frowned and cursed beneath their breath.
He stood there looking about on the throng, his quick bright eyes
travelling from one face to another, half suspicious of them all, half
frightened like a wild thing of the woods. And when the people laughed
he laughed with them at himself. The difficulty about the oath over,
he told his story, eagerly, somewhat like a child, in short hurried
sentences, his bright eyes still hurrying over the audience, his long
nervous fingers fingering the brim of his old felt hat. “I was going
acrost the medder--” he began, “ahint of the graveyard--” and Gene’s
lawyer helped him out with questions. “You saw a bundle on the ground
like a human body--” the bright eyes focused on the lawyer an instant.
“No, it was broken glass. Leastways that’s what I thought I saw. They
tell me--” The lawyer hurried into another question, and the Judge
interrupted:
“Suppose you look around, Noah, and tell me if you can see the man you
saw that night digging in the graveyard?”
The bright eyes focused on the Judge, and then turned quickly toward
Tyke. The lawyer hastened with his assistance.
“Was it this man, Noah?” he pointed to the prisoner.
Noah Casey turned around toward the box where Darcy sat and saw Darcy
for the first time:
“What! _Him?_” he asked, pointing with a long finger at Darcy who
regarded him with a grin of friendliness.
“Why, no, that’s Darcy Sherwood. I know _him_. I’ve knowed him since
he was a little tad. Oh, no, it wa’n’t Darcy. _He’s_ a good boy. He
wouldn’t do such a thing. The man I saw had red ha--”
But Gene’s lawyer raised his voice:
“Your Honor, I am disappointed in this witness. Mentally he does not
seem to be quite all that I supposed--”
“Undoubtedly--” said the Judge under his breath, and Noah was hustled
off the scene.
But the afternoon came on and somehow the false witnesses were making a
pretty good case of it against Darcy. The Judge’s eyebrows were drawn
in a heavy frown and his breath came quick and deep. Those who knew him
well knew that he was troubled, and it was just then that Dan’s note
was handed up.
No one but Darcy noticed the twinkle that came in the Judge’s eyes, and
he wondered and tried to puzzle it out. The Judge was his friend he
knew, and wanted to see him cleared, but surely all hope was gone. The
evidence was all on one side. Why prolong the agony? It almost seemed
as if the Judge were trying to keep the case going, trying to make
time. He asked the most trivial questions and tripped up the lawyer
again and again, holding a witness far beyond necessity.
All at once the Judge drew a long breath and a light came in his eye.
He sat back as if he were done, and ordered that the prisoner be
allowed to speak for himself.
The leather door at the back of the court-room had swung noiselessly
but that moment, and little Lib had entered, straight and beaming, and
behind her walked a lady, and Dan Peterson. Darcy gave one glance and
then arose, and there was a new light in his face. It was almost as if
he had come to a triumphant moment, instead of being about to plead for
his life in the face of indubitable evidence against him. Those who
were watching noticed with a shock that he actually had a kind of smile
on his face, and a look of something--could it be peace? What utter
nonsense! Perhaps he was going out of his mind. Any one might, having
to listen to such a list of his own horrible crimes!
But Darcy was speaking in his quiet tone:
“It almost seems a pity to add anything after such well established
evidence as you all have heard. If I didn’t know I wasn’t guilty I
would almost think I was after listening to what has been said. So I
won’t try to argue in my own favor. I see Miss Joyce Radway herself has
just come in, and I’m going to ask if she may come up here and tell you
whether I ever abducted her, or murdered her, or buried her.”
Then indeed there was a great stir in the court-room. People stretched
their necks to see, and rose up in their seats, but the Judge commanded
silence. Under cover of the confusion Tyke attempted an escape, but was
stopped by order of the watchful Judge.
Joyce came to the front of the room, proudly escorted by Lib who held
her hand to the very witness stand and then stood by with glad eyes to
watch her.
Joyce turned and faced the excited throng, then looking toward her
old friend, Judge Peterson, she spoke in clear, ringing tones that
everybody could hear:
“Your Honor, I haven’t seen Mr. Sherwood but once since I left home a
year ago to go to Silverton and teach. Mr. Sherwood does not know I saw
him then. He was making a speech in a religious service in the city
where I happened to be one evening, and it was a good speech too. I
wish you could have heard it. I tried to get up to speak to him but the
crowd was so great that he was gone before I got to the platform.”
She turned her face toward the court-room a little more, looking down
at the seats where the witnesses sat, and noticing with startled eyes
the man of the loud voice who had addressed her as “girlie” on that
memorable morning one year ago.
“I don’t know what you have been trying to do to my old friend, Mr.
Sherwood, or where you got such utter lies. I went away from Meadow
Brook because I wanted to teach and I knew my relatives were opposed to
my doing it. I did not realize that I could be misunderstood or make
trouble for anybody by doing so, but my going certainly had nothing
whatever to do with Darcy Sherwood. We have seldom seen each other
since we were school children together, and he has always been most
kind and gentlemanly to me whenever I have met him.
“I happened to see an old copy of the _Meadow Brook News_ this morning
and read to my horror what you were saying about him and me. It made
me sick that my old friends and my relatives could allow such an
awful charge to be made on such a man as Darcy Sherwood. I had to get
somebody to take my place in school while I came here, and I was afraid
I wouldn’t get here in time before you did something dreadful you could
never be forgiven for. But I’m glad I came, and I’m--_ashamed_ of you
all.”
If any one had been looking at Darcy then they would have seen a
wonderful look in his eyes, but everybody’s attention was centred on
Joyce. There had not been such a sensation in Meadow Brook in years as
the dead coming to life just in time to save a tragedy.
The Judge stood up and addressed Darcy. His voice was trembling. He was
very unjudgelike in his manner.
“My boy, you are free from the charge and the court dismisses the
case.” He was smiling and there was something like a mist in his eyes.
Darcy inclined his head slightly.
“Your Honor, I thank you. I am glad to be exonerated from a crime that
I did not commit; but I want to ask your permission now to confess to
one that I did. I want to take the penalty, whatever it is, and be
cleared in the eyes of the law forever.”
The court-room grew suddenly hushed. People who had risen and begun to
adjust wraps and pick up their gloves sat down again. All ears were
strained to hear every word.
“You have my permission,” said the Judge looking instantly grave
and anxious. “Is the attorney here to take down the confession? Mr.
Robinson--”
There was a little stir in the room while the attorney came forward,
and then Darcy went on:
“For several months prior to the time last spring when I left town I
had been in the bootlegging business.”
“Oh!--Ah!” were whispered here and there with nods of previous
conviction from people who had been half disappointed to have the trial
turn out so well.
“I gave it up because I had come to feel that it was wrong. I confess
it now because I want to pay the penalty of what I have done. Judge,
I will be glad if you will put this through as soon as possible. I am
ready to take what is coming to me.”
The Judge bowed gravely. There was no denying that he looked relieved.
“This will have to go through the regular routine of course,” he said,
“but it can be run through quickly. Mr. Robinson, you get the items,
number of cases sold and so on; prepare the indictment, and we’ll try
to get it through tomorrow.”
The Judge straightened up and looked about him, his eyes resting on the
four witnesses, holding their hats ready for a speedy departure, and at
that moment the district attorney jumped up briskly.
“Your Honor,” he said. “I ask that these four witnesses be held for
perjury.”
A murmur of satisfaction went rippling over the court-room as people
rose to go out.
People were rushing around Joyce as she came out, still escorted by
little Lib, proud as a small peacock. Nan was the first to envelop her
in a smothering embrace, weeping copiously upon her neck with loud show
of affection. Many old friends lingered, waiting just to watch her dear
face alight with the relief and triumph of the moment. The minister and
his wife were close behind Joyce and eagerly asked her to come home
with them.
“No,” put in Nan decidedly, “She’s coming to her _own_ home of course.
Everything in your room is just as you left it, _darling_--”
Joyce couldn’t help smiling at the affectionate appellative.
“For pity’s sake get rid of that awful child, and come on,” whispered
Nan loudly. “Don’t let her hang on you like that. Let’s get out of this
terrible crowd! How curious people are! Come on home!”
Poor little Lib dropped Joyce’s arm as if she had been shot, but Joyce
quickly caught the little cold hand and drew it back close within her
arm, her own warm fingers keeping the little hand clasped tight.
“I want her here, Nan. She is my dear little friend,” said Joyce
pleasantly.
“For mercy’s sake! You always had such queer friends, Joyce,” she
laughed disagreeably. “Well, never mind, bring her along, only come on!”
But Dan Peterson’s hand was on Joyce’s shoulder.
“No, Mrs. Massey, Joyce is coming with us. Father wants to see her
right away at home,” and off he carried Joyce and Lib in his own big
shiny car, while Nan tried to hide her chagrin by taking to herself
reflected glory, and trying to make a little social hay while the sun
shone.
Joyce went home with the Petersons and was presently sitting in Judge
Peterson’s library, learning about her inheritance, and being prepared
for the reading of the will which was to come after supper as soon as
the Masseys could be summoned to the hearing.
But all the time her mind was on the listen, and she was hoping that
Darcy would come. Surely, surely he would come and speak to her, just
thank her or something. He had been busy with the attorney when she
left the court-room, and had flashed her just one gorgeous smile as
she looked back at him. Had she been mistaken? Surely there was a
promise in that glance, that he would see her again. She wondered why
everything seemed to have suddenly gone so flat. She ought to go back
of course on the night train and be ready to teach on the morrow, but
her heart was not willing to go--not yet--and Judge Peterson presently
settled the matter by saying that she would be needed the next day for
the technicalities of the settlement of the estate.
So she sent a telegram to Harrington:
“Will be back to teach Monday morning. Cannot possibly come sooner.
(Signed) J. Radway.”