It was some little time before the powers that are could be convinced
that Tristrem Varick was guilty of the self-accused murder. It was not
that murders are rare, but a murder such as that was tolerably uncommon.
The sergeant who presided over the police-station in which Tristrem had
delivered himself up was a mild-mannered man, gentle of voice, and
sceptical as a rag-picker. He received Tristrem's statement without
turning a hair.
"What did you do it for?" he asked, and when Tristrem declined to enter
into any explanation, he smiled with affable incredulity. "I can, if you
insist," he said, "accommodate you with a night's lodging." And he was
as good as his word; but the cell which Tristrem subsequently occupied
was not opened for him until the sergeant was convinced that death had
really visited the precinct.
Concerning the form in which that death had come, there was at first no
doubt. Weldon had been found stretched lifeless on a sofa. The physician
who was then summoned made a cursory examination, and declared that
death was due to disease of the heart. Had Tristrem held his tongue,
that verdict, in all probability, would never have been questioned;
indeed, it was not until the minuter autopsy which Tristrem's statement
instigated that the real cause was discovered.
It was then that it began to be admitted that violence had been used,
but as to whether that violence was accidental or intentional, and if
intentional, whether or not it was premeditated, was a matter which,
according to our archaic law, twelve men in a pen could alone decide.
The case was further complicated by a question of sanity. Granting that
some form of manslaughter had been committed, was it the act of one in
full possession of his faculties, or was it the act of one bereft of his
senses?
Generally speaking, public opinion inclined to the latter solution.
Indeed, there seemed to be but one other in any way tenable, and that
was, that the blow was self-inflicted. This theory had many partisans.
The records, if not choked, are well filled with the trials of
individuals who have confessed to crimes of which they were utterly
guiltless. It was discovered that a recent slump in Wall Street had
seriously affected Weldon's credit. It was known that his manner of
living had compelled his wife to return to her father's house, and it
was shown that she had begun an action for divorce. It seemed,
therefore, possible that he had taken his own life in Tristrem's
presence, and that Tristrem, in the horror of the spectacle, had become
mentally unhinged.
In addition to this, there was against Tristrem--aside, of course, from
the confession--barely a scintilla of evidence. The very instrument
which was found on his person, and with which he declared the murder had
been committed, was said not to belong to him. A servant of Weldon's
thought she had once seen it in the possession of her late master. And
it was argued that Tristrem had caught it up when it fell from the hand
of the dead, and, in the consternation of the moment, had thrust it in
his own pocket. Moreover, as suicides go, there was in Weldon's case a
tangible excuse. He was on the edge of bankruptcy, and his matrimonial
venture was evidently infelicitous. His life was an apparent failure.
Many other men have taken their own lives for causes much minor.
The theory of suicide was therefore not untenable, and those who
preferred to believe that a murder had been really committed were at a
loss for a motive. Tristrem and Weldon were known to have been on terms
of intimacy. Tristrem had been absent from the country a number of
months, while Weldon had steadfastly remained in New York. During the
intervening period it was impossible to conjecture the slightest cause
of disagreement. And yet, no sooner did the two men have the opportunity
of meeting, than one fell dead, and the other gave himself up as his
murderer. And if that murder had been really committed, then what was
the motive?
This was the point that particularly perplexed the District Attorney. It
could not have been money. Tristrem had never speculated, and his
financial relations with Weldon were confined to certain loans made to
the latter, and long since repaid. Nor, through the whole affair, could
the sharpest ear detect so much as the rustle of a petticoat. Inasmuch,
then, as neither of the two great motor forces, woman and gold, was
discernible, it is small wonder that the District Attorney was
perplexed. To that gentleman the case was one of peculiar importance.
His term of office had nearly expired, and he ardently desired
re-election. Two wealthy misdemeanants had recently slipped through his
fingers--not through any fault of his own, but they had slipped, none
the less--and some rhetoric had been employed to show that there was a
law for the poor and a more elastic one for the rich. Now Tristrem's
conviction would be the finest plume he could stick in his hat. The
possessor of an historic name, a member of what is known as the best
society, an habitué of exclusive clubs--a representative, in fact, of
everything that is most hateful to the mob--and yet a murderer. No, such
a prize as that must not be allowed to escape. The District Attorney
felt that, did such a thing occur, he might bid an eternal farewell to
greatness and the bench.
But what was the motive of the crime? Long before that question, which
eventually assumed the proportions of a pyramid, was seriously examined,
it had been demonstrated that the wound from which Weldon had died was
not one that could have been self-inflicted. The theory of suicide was
thereupon and at once abandoned. And those who had been most vehement in
its favor now asserted that Tristrem was insane. What better evidence of
insanity could there be than the giving away of seven millions? But
apart from that, there were a number of people willing to testify that
on shipboard Tristrem's demeanor was that of a lunatic--moreover, did he
not insist that he was perfectly sane, and where was the lunatic that
ever admitted himself to be demented? Of course he was insane.
A committee, however, composed of a lawyer, a layman, and a physician,
visited Tristrem, and announced exactly the contrary. According to their
report, he was as sane as the law allows, and, although that honorable
committee did not seem to suspect it, it may be that he was even a
trifle saner. One of the committee--the layman--started out on his visit
with no inconsiderable trepidation. In after-conversation, he said that
it had never been his privilege to exchange speech with one gentler and
more courteous than that self-accused murderer.
Yet still the motive was elusive. In this particular, Tristrem hindered
everybody to the best of his ability. He was resolutely mute.
The attorney who was retained for the defence--not, however, through any
wish of Tristrem's--could make nothing of his client. "It is pathetic,"
he said; "he keeps telling me that he is guilty, that he is sane, that
he is infinitely indebted for my kindness and sympathy, _but that he
does not wish to be defended_. Sane? He is no more sane than the King of
Bavaria. Who ever heard of an inmate of the Tombs that did not want to
be defended? Isn't that evidence enough?"
It was possible, of course, to impugn the testimony of the committee,
but the attorney in this instance deemed it wiser to let it go for what
it was worth, while showing that Tristrem, if sane at the time of the
committee's examination, was insane at the time the crime, if crime
there were, was committed. It was his settled conviction that if
Tristrem would only explain the motive, it would be of such a nature
that the chances of acquittal would be in his favor. In this,
presumably, he was correct. But, in default of any explanation, he
determined that the only adoptable line of defence was the one already
formulated; to wit, that in slaying Weldon his client was temporarily
deranged.
Meanwhile he expressed his conviction to the grief-stricken old man by
whom he had been retained, and who himself had tried, unavailingly, to
learn the cause. Whether he divined, or not, what it really was, is a
matter of relative unimportance. In any event, he had discovered that on
leaving Weldon's house Tristrem, instead of giving himself up at once,
which he would have done had he at the time intended to do so at all,
had gone directly to Miss Raritan.
And one day he, too, went to her. "You can save him," he said.
He might as well have asked alms of a statue. He went again, but the
result was the same. And then a third time he went to her, and on his
knees, with clasped and trembling hands, in a voice broken and
quavering, he besought her to save his grandson from the gallows. "Come
to court," he pleaded; "if you will only come to court!"
"I will come," the girl at last made answer, "I will come to see him
sentenced."
Such is the truth about Tristrem Varick. In metropolitan drawing-rooms
it was noticed that since Miss Raritan's return from Europe the quality
of her voice had deteriorated. Mrs. Manhattan said that for her part she
did not approve of the French method.