THE SCALES OF JUSTICE.
XXVII.
THE GREAT TRIAL.
_Othello._--What dost thou think?
_Iago._-- Think, my lord?
_Othello._--By heav'n, he echoes me.
As if there was some monster in his thought
Too hideous to be shown.--OTHELLO.
SIBLEY was in a stir. Sibley was the central point of interest for the
whole country. The great trial was in progress and the curiosity of the
populace knew no bounds.
In a room of the hotel sat our two detectives. They had just come from
the court-house. Both seemed inclined to talk, though both showed an
indisposition to open the conversation. A hesitation lay between them; a
certain thin vail of embarrassment that either one would have found it
hard to explain, and yet which sufficed to make their intercourse a
trifle uncertain in its character, though Hickory's look had lost none
of its rude good-humor, and Byrd's manner was the same mixture of easy
nonchalance and quiet self-possession it had always been.
It was Hickory who spoke at last.
"Well, Byrd?" was his suggestive exclamation.
"Well, Hickory?" was the quiet reply.
"What do you think of the case so far?"
"I think"--the words came somewhat slowly--"I think that it looks bad.
Bad for the prisoner, I mean," he explained the next moment with a quick
flush.
"Your sympathies are evidently with Mansell," Hickory quietly remarked.
"Yes," was the slow reply. "Not that I think him innocent, or would turn
a hair's breadth from the truth to serve him."
"He _is_ a manly fellow," Hickory bluntly admitted, after a moment's
puff at the pipe he was smoking. "Do you remember the peculiar
straightforwardness of his look when he uttered his plea of 'Not
guilty,' and the tone he used too, so quiet, yet so emphatic? You could
have heard a pin drop."
"Yes," returned Mr. Byrd, with a quick contraction of his usually smooth
brow.
"Have you noticed," the other broke forth, after another puff, "a
certain curious air of disdain that he wears?"
"Yes," was again the short reply.
"I wonder what it means?" queried Hickory carelessly, knocking the ashes
out of his pipe.
Mr. Byrd flashed a quick askance look at his colleague from under his
half-fallen lids, but made no answer.
"It is not pride alone," resumed the rough-and-ready detective,
half-musingly; "though he's as proud as the best of 'em. Neither is it
any sort of make-believe, or _I_ wouldn't be caught by it.
'Tis--'tis--what?" And Hickory rubbed his nose with his thoughtful
forefinger, and looked inquiringly at Mr. Byrd.
"How should I know?" remarked the other, tossing his stump of a cigar
into the fire. "Mr. Mansell is too deep a problem for me."
"And Miss Dare too?"
"_And_ Miss Dare."
Silence followed this admission, which Hickory broke at last by
observing:
"The day that sees _her_ on the witness stand will be interesting, eh?"
"It is not far off," declared Mr. Byrd.
"No?"
"I think she will be called as a witness to-morrow."
"Have you noticed," began Hickory again, after another short interval of
quiet contemplation, "that it is only when Miss Dare is present that
Mansell wears the look of scorn I have just mentioned."
"Hickory," said Mr. Byrd, wheeling directly about in his chair and for
the first time surveying his colleague squarely, "I have noticed _this_.
That ever since the day she made her first appearance in the court-room,
she has sat with her eyes fixed earnestly upon the prisoner, and that he
has never answered her look by so much as a glance in her direction.
This has but one explanation as I take it. He never forgets that it is
through her he has been brought to trial for his life."
Mr. Byrd uttered this very distinctly, and with a decided emphasis. But
the impervious Hickory only settled himself farther back in his chair,
and stretching his feet out toward the fire, remarked dryly:
"Perhaps I am not much of a judge of human nature, but I should have
said now that this Mansell was not a man to treat her contemptuously for
that. Rage he might show or hatred, but this quiet ignoring of her
presence seems a little too dignified for a criminal facing a person he
has every reason to believe is convinced of his guilt."
"Ordinary rules don't apply to this man. Neither you nor I can sound his
nature. If he displays contempt, it is because he is of the sort to feel
it for the woman who has betrayed him."
"You make him out mean-spirited, then, as well as wicked?"
"I make him out human. More than that," Mr. Byrd resumed, after a
moment's thought, "I make him out consistent. A man who lets his
passions sway him to the extent of committing a murder for the purpose
of satisfying his love or his ambition, is not of the unselfish cast
that would appreciate such a sacrifice as Miss Dare has made. This under
the supposition that our reasons for believing him guilty are well
founded. If our suppositions are false, and the crime was not committed
by him, his contempt needs no explanation."
"Just so!"
The peculiar tone in which this was uttered caused Mr. Byrd to flash
another quick look at his colleague. Hickory did not seem to observe it.
"What makes you think Miss Dare will be called to the witness stand
to-morrow?" he asked.
"Well I will tell you," returned Byrd, with the sudden vivacity of one
glad to turn the current of conversation into a fresh channel. "If you
have followed the method of the prosecution as I have done, you will
have noticed that it has advanced to its point by definite stages.
First, witnesses were produced to prove the existence of motive on the
part of the accused. Mr. Goodman was called to the witness stand, and,
after him, other business men of Buffalo, all of whom united in
unqualified assertions of the prisoner's frequently-expressed desire for
a sum of money sufficient to put his invention into practical use. Next,
the amount considered necessary for this purpose was ascertained and
found to be just covered by the legacy bequeathed him by his aunt; after
which, ample evidence was produced to show that he knew the extent of
her small fortune, and the fact that she had by her will made him her
heir. Motive for the crime being thus established, they now proceeded to
prove that he was not without actual opportunity for perpetrating it. He
was shown to have been in Sibley at the time of the murder. The
station-master at Monteith was confronted with the prisoner, also old
Sally Perkins. Then you and I came before the court with our testimony,
and whatever doubt may have remained as to his having been in a position
to effect his aunt's death, and afterward escape unnoticed by means of
the path leading over the hills to Monteith Quarry station, was swept
away. What remains? To connect him with the murder itself, by some,
strong link of circumstantial evidence, such as the ring provides. And
who is it that can give testimony regarding the ring?--Miss Dare."
"Hem! Well, she will do it," was the dry remark of Hickory.
"She will be obliged to do it," was the emphatic response of Byrd.
And again their glances crossed in a furtive way both seemed ready to
ignore.
"What do you think of Orcutt?" Hickory next inquired.
"He is very quiet."
"Too quiet, eh?"
"Perhaps. Folks that know him well declare they never before saw him
conduct a case in so temperate a manner. He has scarcely made an effort
at cross-examination, and, in fact, has thus far won nothing for the
defence except that astonishing tribute to the prisoner's character
given by Mr. Goodman."
"Mr. Goodman is Mansell's friend."
"I know it; but his short, decisive statements told upon the jury. Such
a man as he made Mansell out to be is just the sort to create an
impression on a body of men like them."
"Orcutt understands a jury."
"Orcutt understands his case. He knows he can make nothing by attempting
to shake the evidence which has been presented by the prosecution; the
facts are too clear, and the witnesses which have been called to testify
are of too reliable a character. Whatever defence he contemplates, it
will not rest upon a denial of any of the facts brought to light through
our efforts, or the evidence of such persons as Messrs. Goodman and
Harrison."
"No."
"The question is, then, in what will it lie? Some strong point, I
warrant you, or he would not hold himself and his plans so completely in
reserve. But what strong point? I acknowledge the uncertainty troubles
me."
"I don't wonder," rejoined Hickory. "So it does me."
And a constraint again fell between them that lasted till Hickory put
his pipe in his pocket and signified his intention of returning to his
own apartments.
XXVIII.
THE CHIEF WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION.
Oh, while you live tell truth and shame the devil!
--HENRY IV.
MR. BYRD'S countenance after the departure of his companion was any
thing but cheerful. The fact is, he was secretly uneasy. He dreaded the
morrow. He dreaded the testimony of Miss Dare. He had not yet escaped so
fully from under the dominion of her fascinations as to regard with
equanimity this unhappy woman forcing herself to give testimony
compromising to the man she loved.
Yet when the morrow came he was among the first to secure a seat in the
court-room. Though the scene was likely to be harrowing to his feelings,
he had no wish to lose it, and, indeed, chose such a position as would
give him the best opportunity for observing the prisoner and surveying
the witnesses.
He was not the only one on the look-out for the testimony of Miss Dare.
The increased number of the spectators and the general air of
expectation visible in more than one of the chief actors in this
terrible drama gave suspicious proof of the fact; even if the deadly
pallor of the lady herself had not revealed her own feelings in regard
to the subject.
The entrance of the prisoner was more marked, too, than usual. His air
and manner were emphasized, so to speak, and his face, when he turned it
toward the jury, wore an iron look of resolution that would have made
him conspicuous had he occupied a less prominent position than that of
the dock.
Miss Dare, who had flashed her eyes toward him at the moment of his
first appearance, dropped them again, contrary to her usual custom. Was
it because she knew the moment was at hand when their glances would be
obliged to meet?
Mr. Orcutt, whom no movement on the part of Miss Dare ever escaped,
leaned over and spoke to the prisoner.
"Mr. Mansell," said he, "are you prepared to submit with composure to
the ordeal of confronting Miss Dare?"
"Yes," was the stern reply.
"I would then advise you to look at her now," proceeded his counsel.
"She is not turned this way, and you can observe her without
encountering her glance. A quick look at this moment may save you from
betraying any undue emotion when you see her upon the stand."
The accused smiled with a bitterness Mr. Orcutt thought perfectly
natural, and slowly prepared to obey. As he raised his eyes and allowed
them to traverse the room until they settled upon the countenance of the
woman he loved, this other man who, out of a still more absorbing
passion for Imogene, was at that very moment doing all that lay in his
power for the saving of this his openly acknowledged rival, watched him
with the closest and most breathless attention. It was another instance
of that peculiar fascination which a successful rival has for an
unsuccessful one. It was as if this great lawyer's thoughts reverted to
his love, and he asked himself: "What is there in this Mansell that she
should prefer him to me?"
And Orcutt himself, though happily unaware of the fact, was at that same
instant under a scrutiny as narrow as that he bestowed upon his client.
Mr. Ferris, who knew his secret, felt a keen interest in watching how he
would conduct himself at this juncture. Not an expression of the
lawyer's keen and puzzling eye but was seen by the District Attorney and
noted, even if it was not understood.
Of the three, Mr. Ferris was the first to turn away, and his thoughts if
they could have been put into words might have run something like this:
"That man"--meaning Orcutt--"is doing the noblest work one human being
can perform for another, and yet there is something in his face I do not
comprehend. Can it be he hopes to win Miss Dare by his effort to save
his rival?"
As for the thoughts of the person thus unconsciously subjected to the
criticism of his dearest friend, let our knowledge of the springs that
govern his action serve to interpret both the depth and bitterness of
his curiosity; while the sentiments of Mansell---- But who can read what
lurks behind the iron of that sternly composed countenance? Not
Imogene, not Orcutt, not Ferris. His secret, if he owns one, he keeps
well, and his lids scarcely quiver as he drops them over the eyes that
but a moment before reflected the grand beauty of the unfortunate woman
for whom he so lately protested the most fervent love.
The next moment the court was opened and Miss Dare's name was called by
the District Attorney.
With a last look at the unresponsive prisoner, Imogene rose, took her
place on the witness stand and faced the jury.
It was a memorable moment. If the curious and impressible crowd of
spectators about her had been ignorant of her true relations to the
accused, the deadly stillness and immobility of her bearing would have
convinced them that emotion of the deepest nature lay behind the still,
white mask she had thought fit to assume. That she was beautiful and
confronted them from that common stand as from a throne, did not serve
to lessen the impression she made.
The officer held the Bible toward her. With a look that Mr. Byrd was
fain to consider one of natural shrinking only, she laid her white hand
upon it; but at the intimation from the officer, "The right hand, if you
please, miss," she started and made the exchange he suggested, while at
the same moment there rang upon her ear the voice of the clerk as he
administered the awful adjuration that she should, as she believed and
hoped in Eternal mercy, tell the truth as between this man and the law
and keep not one tittle back. The book was then lifted to her lips by
the officer, and withdrawn.
"Take your seat, Miss Dare," said the District Attorney. And the
examination began.
"Your name, if you please?"
"Imogene Dare."
"Are you married or single?"
"I am single."
"Where were you born?"
Now this was a painful question to one of her history. Indeed, she
showed it to be so by the flush which rose to her cheek and by the
decided trembling of her proud lip. But she did not seek to evade it.
"Sir," she said, "I cannot answer you. I never heard any of the
particulars of my birth. I was a foundling."
The mingled gentleness and dignity with which she made this
acknowledgment won for her the instantaneous sympathy of all present.
Mr. Orcutt saw this, and the flash of indignation that had involuntarily
passed between him and the prisoner subsided as quickly as it arose.
Mr. Ferris went on.
"Where do you live?"
"In this town?"
"With whom do you live?"
"I am boarding at present with a woman of the name of Kennedy. I support
myself by my needle," she hurriedly added, as though anxious to
forestall his next question.
Seeing the prisoner start at this, Imogene lifted her head still higher.
Evidently this former lover of hers knew little of her movements since
they parted so many weeks ago.
"And how long is it since you supported yourself in this way?" asked the
District Attorney.
"For a few weeks only. Formerly," she said, making a slight inclination
in the direction of the prisoner's counsel, "I lived in the household of
Mr. Orcutt, where I occupied the position of assistant to the lady who
looks after his domestic affairs." And her eye met the lawyer's with a
look of pride that made him inwardly cringe, though not even the jealous
glance of the prisoner could detect that an eyelash quivered or a
flicker disturbed the studied serenity of his gaze.
The District Attorney opened his lips as if to pursue this topic, but,
meeting his opponent's eye, concluded to waive further preliminaries and
proceed at once to the more serious part of the examination.
"Miss Dare," said he, "will you look at the prisoner and tell us if you
have any acquaintance with him?"
Slowly she prepared to reply; slowly she turned her head and let her
glance traverse that vast crowd till it settled upon her former lover.
The look which passed like lightning across her face as she encountered
his gaze fixed for the first time steadily upon her own, no one in that
assemblage ever forgot.
"Yes," she returned, quietly, but in a tone that made Mansell quiver and
look away, despite his iron self-command; "I know him."
"Will you be kind enough to say how long you have known him and where it
was you first made his acquaintance?"
"I met him first in Buffalo some four months since," was the steady
reply. "He was calling at a friend's house where I was staying."
"Did you at that time know of his relation to your townswoman, Mrs.
Clemmens?"
"No, sir. It was not till I had seen him several times that I learned he
had any connections in Sibley."
"Miss Dare, you will excuse me, but it is highly desirable for the court
to know if the prisoner ever paid his addresses to you?"
The deep, almost agonizing blush that colored her white cheek answered
as truly as the slow "Yes," that struggled painfully to her lips.
"And--excuse me again, Miss Dare--did he propose marriage to you?"
"He did."
"Did you accept him?"
"I did not."
"Did you refuse him?"
"I refused to engage myself to him."
"Miss Dare, will you tell us when you left Buffalo?"
"On the nineteenth day of August last."
"Did the prisoner accompany you?"
"He did not."
"Upon what sort of terms did you part?"
"Good terms, sir."
"Do you mean friendly terms, or such as are held by a man and a woman
between whom an attachment exists which, under favorable circumstances,
may culminate in marriage?"
"The latter, sir, I think."
"Did you receive any letters from the prisoner after your return to
Sibley?"
"Yes, sir."
"And did you answer them?"
"I did."
"Miss Dare, may I now ask what reasons you gave the prisoner for
declining his offer--that is, if my friend does not object to the
question?" added the District Attorney, turning with courtesy toward Mr.
Orcutt.
The latter, who had started to his feet, bowed composedly and prepared
to resume his seat.
"I desire to put nothing in the way of your eliciting the whole truth
concerning this matter," was his quiet, if somewhat constrained,
response.
Mr. Ferris at once turned back to Miss Dare.
"You will, then, answer," he said.
Imogene lifted her head and complied.
"I told him," she declared, with thrilling distinctness, "that he was in
no condition to marry. I am by nature an ambitious woman, and, not
having suffered at that time, thought more of my position before the
world than of what constitutes the worth and dignity of a man."
No one who heard these words could doubt they were addressed to the
prisoner. Haughtily as she held herself, there was a deprecatory
humility in her tone that neither judge nor jury could have elicited
from her. Naturally many eyes turned in the direction of the prisoner.
They saw two white faces before them, that of the accused and that of
his counsel, who sat near him. But the pallor of the one was of scorn,
and that of the other---- Well, no one who knew the relations of Mr.
Orcutt to the witness could wonder that the renowned lawyer shrank from
hearing the woman he loved confess her partiality for another man.
Mr. Ferris, who understood the situation as well as any one, but who had
passed the point where sympathy could interfere with his action, showed
a disposition to press his advantage.
"Miss Dare," he inquired, "in declining the proposals of the prisoner,
did you state to him in so many words these objections you have here
mentioned?"
"I did."
"And what answer did he give you?"
"He replied that he was also ambitious, and hoped and intended to make a
success in life."
"And did he tell you how he hoped and intended to make a success?"
"He did."
"Miss Dare, were these letters written by you?"
She looked at the packet he held toward her, started as she saw the
broad black ribbon that encircled it, and bowed her head.
"I have no doubt these are my letters," she rejoined, a little
tremulously for her. And unbinding the packet, she examined its
contents. "Yes," she answered, "they are. These letters were all written
by me."
And she handed them back with such haste that the ribbon which bound
them remained in her fingers, where consciously or unconsciously she
held it clutched all through the remaining time of her examination.
"Now," said the District Attorney, "I propose to read two of these
letters. Does my friend wish to look at them before I offer them in
evidence?" holding them out to Mr. Orcutt.
Every eye in the court-room was fixed upon the latter's face, as the
letters addressed to his rival by the woman he wished to make his wife,
were tendered in this public manner to his inspection. Even the iron
face of Mansell relaxed into an expression of commiseration as he turned
and surveyed the man who, in despite of the anomalous position they held
toward each other, was thus engaged in battling for his life before the
eyes of the whole world. At that instant there was not a spectator who
did not feel that Tremont Orcutt was the hero of the moment.
He slowly turned to the prisoner:
"Have you any objection to these letters being read?"
"No," returned the other, in a low tone.
Mr. Orcutt turned firmly to the District Attorney:
"You may read them if you think proper," said he.
Mr. Ferris bowed; the letters were marked as exhibits by the
stenographic reporter who was taking the minutes of testimony, and
handed back to Ferris, who proceeded to read the following in a clear
voice to the jury:
"SIBLEY, N. Y., September 7, 1882.
"DEAR FRIEND,--You show signs of impatience, and
ask for a word to help you through this period of
uncertainty and unrest. What can I say more than I
have said? That I believe in you and in your
invention, and proudly wait for the hour when you
will come to claim me with the fruit of your
labors in your hand. I am impatient myself, but I
have more trust than you. Some one will see the
value of your work before long, or else your aunt
will interest herself in your success, and lend
you that practical assistance which you need to
start you in the way of fortune and fame. I cannot
think you are going to fail. I will not allow
myself to look forward to any thing less than
success for you and happiness for myself. For the
one involves the other, as you must know by this
time, or else believe me to be the most heartless
of coquettes.
"Wishing to see you, but of the opinion that
further meetings between us would be unwise till
our future looks more settled, I remain, hopefully
yours,
"IMOGENE DARE."
"The other letter I propose to read," continued Mr. Ferris, "is dated
September 23d, three days before the widow's death.
"DEAR CRAIK,--Since you insist upon seeing me, and
say that you have reasons of your own for not
visiting me openly, I will consent to meet you at
the trysting spot you mention, though all such
underhand dealings are as foreign to my nature as
I believe them to be to yours.
"Trusting that fortune will so favor us as to make
it unnecessary for us to meet in this way more
than once, I wait in anxiety for your coming.
"IMOGENE DARE."
These letters, unfolding relations that, up to this time, had been
barely surmised by the persons congregated before her, created a great
impression. To those especially who knew her and believed her to be
engaged to Mr. Orcutt the surprise was wellnigh thrilling. The witness
seemed to feel this, and bestowed a short, quick glance upon the lawyer,
that may have partially recompensed him for the unpleasantness of the
general curiosity.
The Prosecuting Attorney went on without pause:
"Miss Dare," said he, "did you meet the prisoner as you promised?"
"I did."
"Will you tell me when and where?"
"On the afternoon of Monday, September 27th, in the glade back of Mrs.
Clemmens' house."
"Miss Dare, we fully realize the pain it must cost you to refer to these
matters, but I must request you to tell us what passed between you at
this interview?"
"If you will ask me questions, sir, I will answer them with the truth
the subject demands."
The sorrowful dignity with which this was said, called forth a bow from
the Prosecuting Attorney.
"Very well," he rejoined, "did the prisoner have any thing to say about
his prospects?"
"He did."
"How did he speak of them?"
"Despondingly."
"And what reason did he give for this?"
"He said he had failed to interest any capitalist in his invention."
"Any other reason?"
"Yes."
"What was that?"
"That he had just come from his aunt whom he had tried to persuade to
advance him a sum of money to carry out his wishes, but that she had
refused."
"He told you that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did he also tell you what path he had taken to his aunt's house?"
"No, sir."
"Was there any thing said by him to show he did not take the secret path
through the woods and across the bog to her back door?"
"No, sir."
"Or that he did not return in the same way?"
"No, sir."
"Miss Dare, did the prisoner express to you at this time irritation as
well as regret at the result of his efforts to elicit money from his
aunt?"
"Yes," was the evidently forced reply.
"Can you remember any words that he used which would tend to show the
condition of his mind?"
"I have no memory for words," she began, but flushed as she met the eye
of the Judge, and perhaps remembered her oath. "I do recollect, however,
one expression he used. He said: 'My life is worth nothing to me without
success. If only to win you, I must put this matter through; and I will
do it yet.'"
She repeated this quietly, giving it no emphasis and scarcely any
inflection, as if she hoped by her mechanical way of uttering it to rob
it of any special meaning. But she did not succeed, as was shown by the
compassionate tone in which Mr. Ferris next addressed her.
"Miss Dare, did you express any anger yourself at the refusal of Mrs.
Clemmens to assist the prisoner by lending him such moneys as he
required?"
"Yes, sir; I fear I did. It seemed unreasonable to me then, and I was
very anxious he should have that opportunity to make fame and fortune
which I thought his genius merited."
"Miss Dare," inquired the District Attorney, calling to his aid such
words as he had heard from old Sally in reference to this interview,
"did you make use of any such expression as this: 'I wish I knew Mrs.
Clemmens'?"
"I believe I did."
"And did this mean you had no acquaintance with the murdered woman at
that time?" pursued Mr. Ferris, half-turning to the prisoner's counsel,
as if he anticipated the objection which that gentleman might very
properly make to a question concerning the intention of a witness.
And Mr. Orcutt, yielding to professional instinct, did indeed make a
slight movement as if to rise, but became instantly motionless. Nothing
could be more painful to him than to wrangle before the crowded
court-room over these dealings between the woman he loved and the man he
was now defending.
Mr. Ferris turned back to the witness and awaited her answer. It came
without hesitation.
"It meant that, sir."
"And what did the prisoner say when you gave utterance to this wish?"
"He asked me why I desired to know her."
"And what did you reply?"
"That if I knew her I might be able to persuade her to listen to his
request."
"And what answer had he for this?"
"None but a quick shake of his head."
"Miss Dare; up to the time of this interview had you ever received any
gift from the prisoner--jewelry, for instance--say, a ring!"
"No, sir."
"Did he offer you such a gift then?"
"He did."
"What was it?"
"A gold ring set with a diamond."
"Did you receive it?"
"No, sir. I felt that in taking a ring from him I would be giving an
irrevocable promise, and I was not ready to do that."
"Did you allow him to put it on your finger?"
"I did."
"And it remained there?" suggested Mr. Ferris, with a smile.
"A minute, may be."
"Which of you, then, took it off?"
"I did."
"And what did you say when you took it off?"
"I do not remember my words."
Again recalling old Sally's account of this interview, Mr. Ferris asked:
"Were they these: 'I cannot. Wait till to-morrow'?"
"Yes, I believe they were."
"And when he inquired: 'Why to-morrow?' did you reply: 'A night has been
known to change the whole current of one's affairs'?"
"I did."
"Miss Dare, what did you mean by those words?"
"I object!" cried Mr. Orcutt, rising. Unseen by any save himself, the
prisoner had made him an eloquent gesture, slight, but peremptory.
"I think it is one I have a right to ask," urged the District Attorney.
But Mr. Orcutt, who manifestly had the best of the argument, maintained
his objection, and the Court instantly ruled in his favor.
Mr. Ferris prepared to modify his question. But before he could speak
the voice of Miss Dare was heard.
"Gentlemen," said she, "there was no need of all this talk. I intended
to seek an interview with Mrs. Clemmens and try what the effect would be
of confiding to her my interest in her nephew."
The dignified simplicity with which she spoke, and the air of quiet
candor that for that one moment surrounded her, gave to this voluntary
explanation an unexpected force that carried it quite home to the hearts
of the jury. Even Mr. Orcutt could not preserve the frown with which he
had confronted her at the first movement of her lips, but turned toward
the prisoner with a look almost congratulatory in its character. But Mr.
Byrd, who for reasons of his own kept his eyes upon that prisoner,
observed that it met with no other return than that shadow of a bitter
smile which now and then visited his otherwise unmoved countenance.
Mr. Ferris, who, in his friendship for the witness, was secretly
rejoiced in an explanation which separated her from the crime of her
lover, bowed in acknowledgment of the answer she had been pleased to
give him in face of the ruling of the Court, and calmly proceeded:
"And what reply did the prisoner make you when you uttered this remark
in reference to the change that a single day sometimes makes in one's
affairs?"
"Something in the way of assent."
"Cannot you give us his words?"
"No, sir."
"Well, then, can you tell us whether or not he looked thoughtful when
you said this?"
"He may have done so, sir."
"Did it strike you at the time that he reflected on what you said?"
"I cannot say how it struck me at the time."
"Did he look at you a few minutes before speaking, or in any way conduct
himself as if he had been set thinking?"
"He did not speak for a few minutes."
"And looked at you?"
"Yes, sir."
The District Attorney paused a moment as if to let the results of his
examination sink into the minds of the jury; then he went on:
"Miss Dare, you say you returned the ring to the prisoner?"
"Yes, sir."
"You say positively the ring passed from you to him; that you saw it in
his hand after it had left yours?"
"No, sir. The ring passed from me to him, but I did not see it in his
hand, because I did not return it to him that way. I dropped it into his
pocket."
At this acknowledgment, which made both the prisoner and his counsel
look up, Mr. Byrd felt himself nudged by Hickory.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered.
"Yes," returned the other.
"And do you believe it?"
"Miss Dare is on oath," was the reply.
"Pooh!" was Hickory's whispered exclamation.
The District Attorney alone showed no surprise.
"You dropped it into his pocket?" he resumed. "How came you to do that?"
"I was weary of the strife which had followed my refusal to accept this
token. He would not take it from me himself, so I restored it to him in
the way I have said."
"Miss Dare, will you tell us what pocket this was?"
"The outside pocket on the left side of his coat," she returned, with a
cold and careful exactness that caused the prisoner to drop his eyes
from her face, with that faint but scornful twitch of the muscles about
his mouth, which gave to his countenance now and then the proud look of
disdain which both the detectives had noted.
"Miss Dare," continued the Prosecuting Attorney, "did you see this ring
again during the interview?"
"No, sir."
"Did you detect the prisoner making any move to take it out of his
pocket, or have you any reason to believe that it was taken out of the
pocket on the left-hand side of his coat while you were with him?"
"No, sir."
"So that, as far as you know, it was still in his pocket when you
parted?"
"Yes, sir."
"Miss Dare, have you ever seen that ring since?"
"I have."
"When and where?"
"I saw it on the morning of the murder. It was lying on the floor of
Mrs. Clemmens' dining-room. I had gone to the house, in my surprise at
hearing of the murderous assault which had been made upon her, and,
while surveying the spot where she was struck, perceived this ring lying
on the floor before me."
"What made you think it was this ring which you had returned to the
prisoner the day before?"
"Because of its setting, and the character of the gem, I suppose."
"Could you see all this where it was lying on the floor?"
"It was brought nearer to my eyes, sir. A gentleman who was standing
near, picked it up and offered it to me, supposing it was mine. As he
held it out in his open palm I saw it plainly."
"Miss Dare, will you tell us what you did when you first saw this ring
lying on the floor?"
"I covered it with my foot."
"Was that before you recognized it?"
"I cannot say. I placed my foot upon it instinctively."
"How long did you keep it there?"
"Some few minutes."
"What caused you to move at last?"
"I was surprised."
"What surprised you?"
"A man came to the door."
"What man."
"I don't know. A stranger to me. Some one who had been sent on an errand
connected with this affair."
"What did he say or do to surprise you?"
"Nothing. It was what you said yourself after the man had gone."
"And what did I say, Miss Dare?"
She cast him a look of the faintest appeal, but answered quietly:
"Something about its not being the tramp who had committed this crime."
"That surprised you?"
"That made me start."
"Miss Dare, were you present in the house when the dying woman spoke the
one or two exclamations which have been testified to in this trial?"
"Yes, sir."
"What was the burden of the first speech you heard?"
"The words _Hand_, sir, and _Ring_. She repeated the two half a dozen
times."
"Miss Dare, what did you say to the gentleman who showed you the ring
and asked if it were yours?"
"I told him it was mine, and took it and placed it on my finger."
"But the ring was not yours?"
"My acceptance of it made it mine. In all but that regard it had been
mine ever since Mr. Mansell offered it to me the day before."
Mr. Ferris surveyed the witness for a moment before saying:
"Then you considered it damaging to your lover to have this ring found
in that apartment?"
Mr. Orcutt instantly rose to object.
"I won't press the question," said the District Attorney, with a wave of
his hand and a slight look at the jury.
"You ought never to have asked it?" exclaimed Mr. Orcutt, with the first
appearance of heat he had shown.
"You are right," Mr. Ferris coolly responded. "The jury could see the
point without any assistance from you or me."
"And the jury," returned Mr. Orcutt, with equal coolness, "is scarcely
obliged to you for the suggestion."
"Well, we won't quarrel about it," declared Mr. Ferris.
"We won't quarrel about any thing," retorted Mr. Orcutt. "We will try
the case in a legal manner."
"Have you got through?" inquired Mr. Ferris, nettled.
Mr. Orcutt took his seat with the simple reply:
"Go on with the case."
The District Attorney, after a momentary pause to regain the thread of
his examination and recover his equanimity, turned to the witness.
"Miss Dare," he asked, "how long did you keep that ring on your finger
after you left the house?"
"A little while--five or ten minutes, perhaps."
"Where were you when you took it off?"
Her voice sank just a trifle:
"On the bridge at Warren Street."
"What did you do with it then?"
Her eyes which had been upon the Attorney's face, fell slowly.
"I dropped it into the water," she said.
And the character of her thoughts and suspicions at that time stood
revealed.
The Prosecuting Attorney allowed himself a few more questions.
"When you parted with the prisoner in the woods, was it with any
arrangement for meeting again before he returned to Buffalo?"
"No, sir."
"Give us the final words of your conversation, if you please."
"We were just parting, and I had turned to go, when he said: 'Is it
good-by, then, Imogene?' and I answered, 'That to-morrow must decide.'
'Shall I stay, then?' he inquired; to which I replied, 'Yes.'"
'Twas a short, seemingly literal, repetition of possibly innocent words,
but the whisper into which her voice sank at the final "Yes" endowed it
with a thrilling effect for which even she was not prepared. For she
shuddered as she realized the deathly quiet that followed its utterance,
and cast a quick look at Mr. Orcutt that was full of question, if not
doubt.
"I was calculating upon the interview I intended to have with Mrs.
Clemmens," she explained, turning toward the Judge with indescribable
dignity.
"We understand that," remarked the Prosecuting Attorney, kindly, and
then inquired:
"Was this the last you saw of the prisoner until to-day?"
"No, sir."
"When did you see him again?"
"On the following Wednesday."
"Where?"
"In the depot at Syracuse."
"How came you to be in Syracuse the day after the murder?"
"I had started to go to Buffalo."
"What purpose had you in going to Buffalo?"
"I wished to see Mr. Mansell."
"Did he know you were coming?"
"No, sir."
"Had no communication passed between you from the time you parted in the
woods till you came upon each other in the depot you have just
mentioned?"
"No, sir."
"Had he no reason to expect to meet you there?"
"No, sir."
"With what words did you accost each other?"
"I don't know. I have no remembrance of saying any thing. I was utterly
dumbfounded at seeing him in this place, and cannot say into what
exclamation I may have been betrayed."
"And he? Don't you remember what he said?"
"No, sir. I only know he started back with a look of great surprise.
Afterward he asked if I were on my way to see him."
"And what did you answer?"
"I don't think I made any answer. I was wondering if he was on his way
to see me."
"Did you put the question to him?"
"Perhaps. I cannot tell. It is all like a dream to me."
If she had said horrible dream, every one there would have believed her.
"You can tell us, however, if you held any conversation?"
"We did not."
"And you can tell us how the interview terminated?"
"Yes, sir. I turned away and took the train back home, which I saw
standing on the track without."
"And he?"
"Turned away also. Where he went I cannot say."
"Miss Dare"--the District Attorney's voice was very earnest--"can you
tell us which of you made the first movement to go?"
"What does he mean by that?" whispered Hickory to Byrd.
"I think----" she commenced and paused. Her eyes in wandering over the
throng of spectators before her, had settled on these two detectives,
and noting the breathless way in which they looked at her, she seemed to
realize that more might lie in this question than at first appeared.
"I do not know," she answered at last. "It was a simultaneous movement,
I think."
"Are you sure?" persisted Mr. Ferris. "You are on oath, Miss Dare? Is
there no way in which you can make certain whether he or you took the
initiatory step in this sudden parting after an event that so materially
changed your mutual prospects?"
"No, sir. I can only say that in recalling the sensations of that hour,
I am certain my own movement was not the result of any I saw him take.
The instinct to leave the place had its birth in my own breast."
"I told you so," commented Hickory, in the ear of Byrd. "She is not
going to give herself away, whatever happens."
"But can you positively say he did not make the first motion to leave?"
"No, sir."
Mr. Ferris bowed, turned toward the opposing counsel and said:
"The witness is yours."
Mr. Ferris sat down perfectly satisfied. He had dexterously brought out
Imogene's suspicions of the prisoner's guilt, and knew that the jury
must be influenced in their convictions by those of the woman who, of
all the world, ought to have believed, if she could, in the innocence of
her lover. He did not even fear the cross-examination which he expected
to follow. No amount of skill on the part of Orcutt could extract other
than the truth, and the truth was that Imogene believed the prisoner to
be the murderer of his aunt. He, therefore, surveyed the court-room with
a smile, and awaited the somewhat slow proceedings of his opponent with
equanimity.
But, to the surprise of every one, Mr. Orcutt, after a short
consultation with the prisoner, rose and said he had no questions to put
to the witness.
And Miss Dare was allowed to withdraw from the stand, to the great
satisfaction of Mr. Ferris, who found himself by this move in a still
better position than he had anticipated.
"Byrd," whispered Hickory, as Miss Dare returned somewhat tremulously to
her former seat among the witnesses--"Byrd, you could knock me over with
a feather. I thought the defence would have no difficulty in riddling
this woman's testimony, and they have not even made the effort. Can it
be that Orcutt has such an attachment for her that he is going to let
his rival hang?"
"No. Orcutt isn't the man to deliberately lose a case for any woman. He
looks at Miss Dare's testimony from a different standpoint than you do.
He believes what she says to be true, and you do not."
"Then, all I've got to say, 'So much the worse for Mansell!'" was the
whispered response. "He was a fool to trust his case to that man."
The judge, the jury, and all the by-standers in court, it must be
confessed, shared the opinion of Hickory--Mr. Orcutt was standing on
slippery ground.
XXIX.
THE OPENING OF THE DEFENCE.
Excellent! I smell a device.--TWELFTH NIGHT.
LATE that afternoon the prosecution rested. It had made out a case of
great strength and seeming impregnability. Favorably as every one was
disposed to regard the prisoner, the evidence against him was such that,
to quote a man who was pretty free with his opinions in the lobby of the
court-room: "Orcutt will have to wake up if he is going to clear his man
in face of facts like these."
The moment, therefore, when this famous lawyer and distinguished
advocate rose to open the defence, was one of great interest to more
than the immediate actors in the scene. It was felt that hitherto he had
rather idled with his case, and curiosity was awake to his future
course. Indeed, in the minds of many the counsel for the prisoner was on
trial as well as his client.
He rose with more of self-possession, quiet and reserved strength, than
could be hoped for, and his look toward the Court and then to the jury
tended to gain for him the confidence which up to this moment he seemed
to be losing. Never a handsome man or even an imposing one, he had the
advantage of always rising to the occasion, and whether pleading with a
jury or arguing with opposing counsel, flashed with that unmistakable
glitter of keen and ready intellect which, once observed in a man, marks
him off from his less gifted fellows and makes him the cynosure of all
eyes, however insignificant his height, features, or ordinary
expression.
To-day he was even cooler, more brilliant, and more confident in his
bearing than usual. Feelings, if feelings he possessed--and we who have
seen him at his hearth can have no doubt on this subject,--had been set
aside when he rose to his feet and turned his face upon the expectant
crowd before him. To save his client seemed the one predominating
impulse of his soul, and, as he drew himself up to speak, Mr. Byrd, who
was watching him with the utmost eagerness and anticipation, felt that,
despite appearances, despite evidence, despite probability itself, this
man was going to win his case.
"May it please your Honor and Gentlemen of the Jury," he began, and
those who looked at him could not but notice how the prisoner at his
side lifted his head at this address, till it seemed as if the words
issued from his lips instead of from those of his counsel, "I stand
before you to-day not to argue with my learned opponent in reference to
the evidence which he has brought out with so much ingenuity. I have a
simpler duty than that to perform. I have to show you how, in spite of
this evidence, in face of all this accumulated testimony showing the
prisoner to have been in possession of both motive and opportunities
for committing this crime, he is guiltless of it; that a physical
impossibility stands in the way of his being the assailant of the Widow
Clemmens, and that to whomever or whatsoever her death may be due, it
neither was nor could have been the result of any blow struck by the
prisoner's hand. In other words, we dispute, not the facts which have
led the Prosecuting Attorney of this district, and perhaps others also,
to infer guilt on the part of the prisoner,"--here Mr. Orcutt cast a
significant glance at the bench where the witnesses sat,--"but the
inference itself. Something besides proof of motive and opportunity must
be urged against _this_ man in order to convict him of guilt. Nor is it
sufficient to show he was on the scene of murder some time during the
fatal morning when Mrs. Clemmens was attacked; you must prove he was
there at the time the deadly blow was struck; for it is not with him as
with so many against whom circumstantial evidence of guilt is brought.
_This_ man, gentlemen, has an answer for those who accuse him of
crime--an answer, too, before which all the circumstantial evidence in
the world cannot stand. Do you want to know what it is? Give me but a
moment's attention and you shall hear."
Expectation, which had been rising through this exordium, now stood at
fever-point. Byrd and Hickory held their breaths, and even Miss Dare
showed feeling through the icy restraint which had hitherto governed her
secret anguish and suspense. Mr. Orcutt went on:
"First, however, as I have already said, the prisoner desires it to be
understood that he has no intention of disputing the various facts which
have been presented before you at this trial. He does not deny that he
was in great need of money at the time of his aunt's death; that he came
to Sibley to entreat her to advance to him certain sums he deemed
necessary to the furtherance of his plans; that he came secretly and in
the roundabout way you describe. Neither does he refuse to allow that
his errand was also one of love, that he sought and obtained a private
interview with the woman he wished to make his wife, in the place and at
the time testified to; that the scraps of conversation which have been
sworn to as having passed between them at this interview are true in as
far as they go, and that he did place upon the finger of Miss Dare a
diamond ring. Also, he admits that she took this ring off immediately
upon receiving it, saying she could not accept it, at least not then,
and that she entreated him to take it back, which he declined to do,
though he cannot say she did not restore it in the manner she declares,
for he remembers nothing of the ring after the moment he put her hand
aside as she was offering it back to him. The prisoner also allows that
he slept in the hut and remained in that especial region of the woods
until near noon the next day; but, your Honor and Gentlemen of the Jury,
what the prisoner does not allow and will not admit is that he struck
the blow which eventually robbed Mrs. Clemmens of her life, and the
proof which I propose to bring forward in support of this assertion is
this:
"Mrs. Clemmens received the blow which led to her death at some time
previously to three minutes past twelve o'clock on Tuesday, September
26th. This the prosecution has already proved. Now, what I propose to
show is, that Mrs. Clemmens, however or whenever assailed, was still
living and unhurt up to ten minutes before twelve on that same day. A
witness, whom you must believe, saw her at that time and conversed with
her, proving that the blow by which she came to her death must have
occurred after that hour, that is, after ten minutes before noon. But,
your Honor and Gentlemen of the Jury, the prosecution has already shown
that the prisoner stepped on to the train at Monteith Quarry Station at
twenty minutes past one of that same day, and has produced witnesses
whose testimony positively proves that the road he took there from Mrs.
Clemmens' house was the same he had traversed in his secret approach to
it the day before--viz., the path through the woods; the only path, I
may here state, that connects those two points with any thing like
directness.
"But, Sirs, what the prosecution has not shown you, and what it now
devolves upon me to show, is that this path which the prisoner is
allowed to have taken is one which no man could traverse without
encountering great difficulties and many hindrances to speed. It is not
only a narrow path filled with various encumbrances in the way of
brambles and rolling stones, but it is so flanked by an impenetrable
undergrowth in some places, and by low, swampy ground in others, that no
deviation from its course is possible, while to keep within it and
follow its many turns and windings till it finally emerges upon the
highway that leads to the Quarry Station would require many more minutes
than those which elapsed between the time of the murder and the hour the
prisoner made his appearance at the Quarry Station. In other words, I
propose to introduce before you as witnesses two gentlemen from New
York, both of whom are experts in all feats of pedestrianism, and who,
having been over the road themselves, are in position to testify that
the time necessary for a man to pass by means of this path from Mrs.
Clemmens' house to the Quarry Station is, by a definite number of
minutes, greater than that allowed to the prisoner by the evidence laid
before you. If, therefore, you accept the testimony of the prosecution
as true, and believe that the prisoner took the train for Buffalo, which
he has been said to do, it follows, as a physical impossibility, for him
to have been at Mrs. Clemmens' cottage, or anywhere else except on the
road to the station, at the moment when the fatal blow was dealt.
"Your Honor, this is our answer to the terrible charge which has been
made against the prisoner; it is simple, but it is effective, and upon
it, as upon a rock, we found our defence."
And with a bow, Mr. Orcutt sat down, and, it being late in the day, the
court adjourned.
XXX.
BYRD USES HIS PENCIL AGAIN.
Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be
so, I shall do that that is reason.--MERRY WIVES
OF WINDSOR.
"BYRD, you look dazed."
"I am."
Hickory paused till they were well clear of the crowd that was pouring
from the court-room; then he said:
"Well, what do you think of this as a defence?"
"I am beginning to think it is good," was the slow, almost hesitating,
reply.
"Beginning to think?"
"Yes. At first it seemed puerile. I had such a steadfast belief in
Mansell's guilt, I could not give much credit to any argument tending to
shake me loose from my convictions. But the longer I think of it the
more vividly I remember the difficulties of the road he had to take in
his flight. I have travelled it myself, you remember, and I don't see
how he could have got over the ground in ninety minutes."
Hickory's face assumed a somewhat quizzical expression.
"Byrd," said he, "whom were you looking at during the time Mr. Orcutt
was making his speech?"
"At the speaker, of course."
"Bah!"
"Whom were _you_ looking at?"
"At the person who would be likely to give me some return for my pains."
"The prisoner?"
"No."
"Whom, then?"
"Miss Dare."
Byrd shifted uneasily to the other side of his companion.
"And what did you discover from her, Hickory?" he asked.
"Two things. First, that she knew no more than the rest of us what the
defence was going to be. Secondly, that she regarded it as a piece of
great cleverness on the part of Orcutt, but that she didn't believe in
it anymore--well, any more than I do."
"Hickory!"
"Yes, _sir_! Miss Dare is a smart woman, and a resolute one, and could
have baffled the penetration of all concerned if she had only remembered
to try. But she forgot that others might be more interested in making
out what was going on in her mind at this critical moment than in
watching the speaker or noting the effect of his words upon the court.
In fact, she was too eager herself to hear what he had to say to
remember her _role_, I fancy."
"But, I don't see----" began Byrd.
"Wait," interrupted the other. "You believe Miss Dare loves Craik
Mansell?"
"Most certainly," was the gloomy response.
"Very well, then. If she had known what the defence was going to be she
would have been acutely alive to the effect it was going to have upon
the jury. That would have been her first thought and her only thought
all the time Mr. Orcutt was speaking, and she would have sat with her
eyes fixed upon the men upon whose acceptance or non-acceptance of the
truth of this argument her lover's life ultimately depended. But no; her
gaze, like yours, remained fixed upon Mr. Orcutt, and she scarcely
breathed or stirred till he had fully revealed what his argument was
going to be. Then----"
"Well, then?"
"Instead of flashing with the joy of relief which any devoted woman
would experience who sees in this argument a proof of her lover's
innocence, she merely dropped her eyes and resumed her old mask of
impassiveness."
"From all of which you gather----"
"That her feelings were not those of relief, but doubt. In other words,
that the knowledge she possesses is of a character which laughs to scorn
any such subterfuge of defence as Orcutt advances."
"Hickory," ventured Byrd, after a long silence, "it is time we
understood each other. What is your secret thought in relation to Miss
Dare?"
"My secret thought? Well," drawled the other, looking away, "I think
she knows more about this crime than she has yet chosen to reveal."
"More than she evinced to-day in her testimony?"
"Yes."
"I should like to know why you think so. What special reasons have you
for drawing any such conclusions?"
"Well, one reason is, that she was no more shaken by the plausible
argument advanced by Mr. Orcutt. If her knowledge of the crime was
limited to what she acknowledged in her testimony, and her conclusions
as to Mansell's guilt were really founded upon such facts as she gave us
in court to-day, why didn't she grasp at the possibility of her lover's
innocence which was held out to her by his counsel? No facts that she
had testified to, not even the fact of his ring having been found on the
scene of murder, could stand before the proof that he left the region of
Mrs. Clemmens' house before the moment of assault; yet, while evincing
interest in the argument, and some confidence in it, too, as one that
would be likely to satisfy the jury, she gave no tokens of being
surprised by it into a reconsideration of her own conclusions, as must
have happened if she told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth, when she was on the stand to-day."
"I see," remarked Byrd, "that you are presuming to understand Miss Dare
after all."
Hickory smiled.
"You call this woman a mystery," proceeded Byrd; "hint at great
possibilities of acting on her part, and yet in a moment, as it were,
profess yourself the reader of her inmost thoughts, and the interpreter
of looks and expressions she has manifestly assumed to hide those
thoughts."
Hickory's smile broadened into a laugh.
"Just so," he cried. "One's imbecility has to stop somewhere." Then, as
he saw Byrd look grave, added: "I haven't a single fact at my command
that isn't shared by you. My conclusions are different, that is all."
Horace Byrd did not answer. Perhaps if Hickory could have sounded his
thoughts he would have discovered that their conclusions were not so far
apart as he imagined.
"Hickory," Byrd at last demanded, "what do you propose to do with your
conclusions?"
"I propose to wait and see if Mr. Orcutt proves his case. If he don't, I
have nothing more to say; but if he does, I think I shall call the
attention of Mr. Ferris to one question he has omitted to ask Miss
Dare."
"And what is that?"
"Where she was on the morning of Mrs. Clemmens' murder. You remember you
took some interest in that question yourself a while ago."
"But----"
"Not that I think any thing will come of it, only my conscience will be
set at rest."
"Hickory,"--Byrd's face had quite altered now--"where do you think Miss
Dare was at that time?"
"Where do I think she was?" repeated Hickory.
"Well, I will tell you. I think she was _not_ in Professor Darling's
observatory."
"Do you think she was in the glade back of Widow Clemmens' house?"
"Now you ask me conundrums."
"Hickory!" Byrd spoke almost violently, "Mr. Orcutt shall not prove his
case."
"No?"
"I will make the run over the ground supposed to have been taken by
Mansell in his flight, and show in my own proper person that it can be
done in the time specified."
Hickory's eye, which had taken a rapid survey of his companion's form
during the utterance of the above, darkened, then he slowly shook his
head.
"You couldn't," he rejoined laconically. "Too little staying power;
you'd give out before you got clear of the woods. Better delegate the
job to me."
"To you?"
"Yes. I'm of the make to stand long runs; besides I am no novice at
athletic sports of any kind. More than one race has owed its interest to
the efforts of your humble servant. 'Tis my pet amusement, you see, as
off-hand drawing is yours, and is likely to be of as much use to me,
eh?"
"Hickory, you are chaffing me."
"Think so? Do you see that five-barred gate over there? Well, now keep
your eye on the top rail and see if I clear it without a graze or not."
"Stop!" exclaimed Mr. Byrd, "don't make a fool of yourself in the public
street. I'll believe you if you say you understand such things."
"Well, I do, and what is more, I'm an adept at them. If I can't make
that run in the time requisite to show that Mansell could have committed
the murder, and yet arrive at the station the moment he did, I don't
know of a chap who can."
"Hickory, do you mean to say you _will_ make this run?"
"Yes."
"With a conscientious effort to prove that Orcutt's scheme of defence is
false?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"To-morrow."
"While we are in court?"
"Yes."
Byrd turned square around, gave Hickory a look and offered his hand.
"You are a good fellow," he declared, "May luck go with you."
Hickory suddenly became unusually thoughtful.
"A little while ago," he reflected, "this fellow's sympathies were all
with Mansell; now he would risk my limbs and neck to have the man proved
guilty. He does not wish Miss Dare to be questioned again, I see."
"Hickory," resumed Byrd, a few minutes later, "Orcutt has not rested the
defence upon this one point without being very sure of its being
unassailable."
"I know that."
"He has had more than one expert make that run during the weeks that
have elapsed since the murder. It has been tested to the uttermost."
"I know _that_."
"If you succeed then in doing what none of these others have, it must be
by dint of a better understanding of the route you have to take and the
difficulties you will have to overcome. Now, do you understand the
route?"
"I think so."
"You will have to start from the widow's door, you know?"
"Certain."
"Cross the bog, enter the woods, skirt the hut--but I won't go into
details. The best way to prove you know exactly what you have to do is
to see if you can describe the route yourself. Come into my room, old
fellow, and let us see if you can give me a sufficiently exact account
of the ground you will have to pass over, for me to draw up a chart by
it. An hour spent with paper and pencil to-night may save you from an
uncertainty to-morrow that would lose you a good ten minutes."
"Good! that's an idea; let's try it," rejoined Hickory.
And being by this time at the hotel, they went in. In another moment
they were shut up in Mr. Byrd's room, with a large sheet of foolscap
before them.
"Now," cried Horace, taking up a pencil, "begin with your description,
and I will follow with my drawing."
"Very well," replied Hickory, setting himself forward in a way to watch
his colleague's pencil. "I leave the widow's house by the dining-room
door--a square for the house, Byrd, well down in the left-hand corner of
the paper, and a dotted line for the path I take,--run down the yard to
the fence, leap it, cross the bog, and make straight for the woods."
"Very good," commented Byrd, sketching rapidly as the other spoke.
"Having taken care to enter where the trees are thinnest, I find a path
along which I rush in a bee-line till I come to the glade--an ellipse
for the glade, Byrd, with a dot in it for the hut. Merely stopping to
dash into the hut and out again----"
"Wait!" put in Byrd, pausing with his pencil in mid-air; "what did you
want to go into the hut for?"
"To get the bag which I propose to leave there to-night."
"Bag?"
[Illustration: (Page 364)]
"Yes; Mansell carried a bag, didn't he? Don't you remember what the
station-master said about the curious portmanteau the fellow had in
his hand when he came to the station?"
"Yes, but----"
"Byrd, if I run that fellow to his death it must be fairly. A man with
an awkward bag in his hand cannot run like a man without one. So I
handicap myself in the same way he did, do you see?"
"Yes."
"Very well, then; I rush into the hut, pick up the bag, carry it out,
and dash immediately into the woods at the opening behind the hut.--What
are you doing?"
"Just putting in a few landmarks," explained Byrd, who had run his
pencil off in an opposite direction. "See, that is the path to West Side
which I followed in my first expedition through the woods--the path,
too, which Miss Dare took when she came to the hut at the time of the
fearful thunderstorm. And wait, let me put in Professor Darling's house,
too, and the ridge from which you can see Mrs. Clemmens' cottage. It
will help us to understand----"
"What?" cried Hickory, with quick suspiciousness, as the other paused.
But Byrd, impatiently shaking his head, answered:
"The whole situation, of course." Then, pointing hastily back to the
hut, exclaimed: "So you have entered the woods again at this place? Very
well; what then?"
"Well, then," resumed Hickory, "I make my way along the path I find
there--run it at right angles to the one leading up to the glade--till
I come to a stony ledge covered with blackberry bushes. (A very cleverly
drawn blackberry patch that, Byrd.) Here I fear I shall have to pause."
"Why?"
"Because, deuce take me if I can remember where the path runs after
that."
"But I can. A big hemlock-tree stands just at the point where the woods
open again. Make for that and you will be all right."
"Good enough; but it's mighty rough travelling over that ledge, and I
shall have to go at a foot's pace. The stones are slippery as glass, and
a fall would scarcely be conducive to the final success of my scheme."
"I will make the path serpentine."
"That will be highly expressive."
"And now, what next?"
"The Foresters' Road, Byrd, upon which I ought to come about this time.
Run it due east and west--not that I have surveyed the ground, but it
looks more natural so--and let the dotted line traverse it toward the
right, for that is the direction in which I shall go."
"It's done," said Byrd.
"Well, description fails me now. All I know is, I come out on a hillside
running straight down to the river-bank and that the highway is visible
beyond, leading directly to the station; but the way to get to it----"
"I will show you," interposed Byrd, mapping out the station and the
intervening river with a few quick strokes of his dexterous pencil. "You
see this point where you issue from the woods? Very good; it is, as you
say, on a hillside overlooking the river. Well, it seems unfortunate,
but there is no way of crossing that river at this point. The falls
above and below make it no place for boats, and you will have to go back
along its banks for some little distance before you come to a bridge.
But there is no use in hesitating or looking about for a shorter path.
The woods just here are encumbered with a mass of tangled undergrowth
which make them simply impassable except as you keep in the road, while
the river curves so frequently and with so much abruptness--see, I will
endeavor to give you some notion of it here--that you would only waste
time in attempting to make any short cuts. But, once over the
bridge----"
"I have only to foot it," burst in Hickory, taking up the sketch which
the other had now completed, and glancing at it with a dubious eye. "Do
you know, Byrd," he remarked in another moment, "that it strikes me
Mansell did not take this roundabout road to the station?"
"Why?"
"Because it _is_ so roundabout, and he is such a clearheaded fellow.
Couldn't he have got there by some shorter cut?"
"No. Don't you remember how Orcutt cross-examined the station-master
about the appearance which Mansell presented when he came upon the
platform, and how that person was forced to acknowledge that, although
the prisoner looked heated and exhausted, his clothes were neither
muddied nor torn? Now, I did not think of it at the time, but this was
done by Orcutt to prove that Mansell did take the road I have jotted
down here, since any other would have carried him through swamps
knee-deep with mud, or amongst stones and briers which would have put
him in a state of disorder totally unfitting him for travel."
"That is so," acquiesced Hickory, after a moment's thought. "Mansell
must be kept in the path. Well, well, we will see to-morrow if wit and a
swift foot can make any thing out of this problem."
"Wit? Hickory, it _will_ be wit and not a swift foot. Or luck, maybe I
should call it, or rather providence. If a wagon should be going along
the highway, now----"
"Let me alone for availing myself of it," laughed Hickory. "Wagon! I
would jump on the back of a mule sooner than lose the chance of gaining
a minute on these experts whose testimony we are to hear to-morrow.
Don't lose confidence in old Hickory yet. He's the boy for this job if
he isn't for any other."
And so the matter was settled.
XXXI.
THE CHIEF WITNESS FOR THE DEFENCE.
Your _If_ is the only peace-maker; much virtue in _If_.--AS YOU
LIKE IT.
THE crowd that congregated at the court-house the next morning was even
greater than at any previous time. The opening speech of Mr. Orcutt had
been telegraphed all over the country, and many who had not been
specially interested in the case before felt an anxiety to hear how he
would substantiate the defence he had so boldly and confidently put
forth.
To the general eye, however, the appearance of the court-room was much
the same as on the previous day. Only to the close observer was it
evident that the countenances of the several actors in this exciting
drama wore a different expression. Mr. Byrd, who by dint of the most
energetic effort had succeeded in procuring his old seat, was one of
these, and as he noted the significant change, wished that Hickory had
been at his side to note it with him.
The first person he observed was, naturally, the Judge.
Judge Evans, who has been but barely introduced to the reader, was a man
of great moral force and discretion. He had occupied his present
position for many years, and possessed not only the confidence but the
affections of those who came within the sphere of his jurisdiction. The
reason for this undoubtedly lay in his sympathetic nature. While never
accused of weakness, he so unmistakably retained the feeling heart under
the official ermine that it was by no means an uncommon thing for him to
show more emotion in uttering a sentence than the man he condemned did
in listening to it.
His expression, then, upon this momentous morning was of great
significance to Mr. Byrd. In its hopefulness and cheer was written the
extent of the effect made upon the unprejudiced mind by the promised
defence.
As for Mr. Orcutt himself, no advocate could display a more confident
air or prepare to introduce his witnesses with more dignity or quiet
assurance. His self-possession was so marked, indeed, that Mr. Byrd, who
felt a sympathetic interest in what he knew to be seething in this man's
breast, was greatly surprised, and surveyed, with a feeling almost akin
to awe, the lawyer who could so sink all personal considerations in the
cause he was trying.
Miss Dare, on the contrary, was in a state of nervous agitation. Though
no movement betrayed this, the very force of the restraint she put upon
herself showed the extent of her inner excitement.
The prisoner alone remained unchanged. Nothing could shake his steady
soul from its composure, not the possibility of death or the prospect of
release. He was absolutely imposing in his quiet presence, and Mr. Byrd
could not but admire the power of the man even while recoiling from his
supposed guilt.
The opening of the defence carried the minds of many back to the
inquest. The nice question of time was gone into, and the moment when
Mrs. Clemmens was found lying bleeding and insensible at the foot of her
dining-room clock, fixed at three or four minutes past noon. The next
point to be ascertained was when she received the deadly blow.
And here the great surprise of the defence occurred. Mr. Orcutt rose,
and in clear, firm tones said:
"Gouverneur Hildreth, take the stand."
Instantly, and before the witness could comply, Mr. Ferris was on his
feet.
"Who? what?" he cried.
"Gouverneur Hildreth," repeated Mr. Orcutt.
"Did you know this gentleman has already been in custody upon suspicion
of having committed the crime for which the prisoner is now being
tried?"
"I do," returned Mr. Orcutt, with imperturbable _sang froid_.
"And is it your intention to save your client from the gallows by
putting the halter around the neck of the man you now propose to call as
a witness?"
"No," retorted Mr. Orcutt; "_I_ do not propose to put the halter about
any man's neck. That is the proud privilege of my learned and respected
opponent."
With an impatient frown Mr. Ferris sat down, while Mr. Hildreth, who
had taken advantage of this short passage of arms between the lawyers to
retain his place in the remote corner where he was more or less shielded
from the curiosity of the crowd, rose, and, with a slow and painful
movement that at once attracted attention to his carefully bandaged
throat and the general air of debility which surrounded him, came
hesitatingly forward and took his stand in face of the judge and jury.
Necessarily a low murmur greeted him from the throng of interested
spectators who saw in this appearance before them of the man who, by no
more than a hair's-breadth, had escaped occupying the position of the
prisoner, another of those dramatic incidents with which this trial
seemed fairly to bristle.
It was hushed by one look from the Judge, but not before it had awakened
in Mr. Hildreth's weak and sensitive nature those old emotions of shame
and rage whose token was a flush so deep and profuse it unconsciously
repelled the gaze of all who beheld it. Immediately Mr. Byrd, who sat
with bated breath, as it were, so intense was his excitement over the
unexpected turn of affairs, recognized the full meaning of the
situation, and awarded to Mr. Orcutt all the admiration which his skill
in bringing it about undoubtedly deserved. Indeed, as the detective's
quick glance flashed first at the witness, cringing in his old
unfortunate way before the gaze of the crowd, and then at the prisoner
sitting unmoved and quietly disdainful in his dignity and pride, he
felt that, whether Mr. Orcutt succeeded in getting all he wished from
his witness, the mere conjunction of these two men before the jury, with
the opportunity for comparison between them which it inevitably offered,
was the master-stroke of this eminent lawyer's legal career.
Mr. Ferris seemed to feel the significance of the moment also, for his
eyes fell and his brow contracted with a sudden doubt that convinced Mr.
Byrd that, mentally, he was on the point of giving up his case.
The witness was at once sworn.
"Orcutt believes Hildreth to be the murderer, or, at least, is willing
that others should be impressed with this belief," was the comment of
Byrd to himself at this juncture.
He had surprised a look which had passed between the lawyer and Miss
Dare--a look of such piercing sarcasm and scornful inquiry that it might
well arrest the detective's attention and lead him to question the
intentions of the man who could allow such an expression of his feelings
to escape him.
But whether the detective was correct in his inferences, or whether Mr.
Orcutt's glance at Imogene meant no more than the natural emotion of a
man who suddenly sees revealed to the woman he loves the face of him for
whose welfare she has expressed the greatest concern and for whose sake,
while unknown, she has consented to make the heaviest of sacrifices, the
wary lawyer was careful to show neither scorn nor prejudice when he
turned toward the witness and began his interrogations.
On the contrary, his manner was highly respectful, if not considerate,
and his questions while put with such art as to keep the jury constantly
alert to the anomalous position which the witness undoubtedly held, were
of a nature mainly to call forth the one fact for which his testimony
was presumably desired. This was, his presence in the widow's house on
the morning of the murder, and the fact that he saw her and conversed
with her and could swear to her being alive and unhurt up to a few
minutes before noon. To be sure, the precise minute of his leaving her
in this condition Mr. Orcutt failed to gather from the witness, but,
like the coroner at the inquest, he succeeded in eliciting enough to
show that the visit had been completed prior to the appearance of the
tramp at the widow's kitchen-door, as it had been begun after the
disappearance of the Danton children from the front of the widow's
house.
This fact being established and impressed upon the jury, Mr. Orcutt with
admirable judgment cut short his own examination of the witness, and
passed him over to the District Attorney, with a grim smile, suggestive
of his late taunt, that to this gentleman belonged the special privilege
of weaving halters for the necks of unhappy criminals.
Mr. Ferris who understood his adversary's tactics only too well, but who
in his anxiety for the truth could not afford to let such an
opportunity for reaching it slip by, opened his cross-examination with
great vigor.
The result could not but be favorable to the defence and damaging to the
prosecution. The position which Mr. Hildreth must occupy if the prisoner
was acquitted, was patent to all understandings, making each and every
admission on his part tending to exculpate the latter, of a manifest
force and significance.
Mr. Ferris, however, was careful not to exceed his duty or press his
inquiries beyond due bounds. The man they were trying was not Gouverneur
Hildreth but Craik Mansell, and to press the witness too close, was to
urge him into admissions seemingly so damaging to himself as, in the
present state of affairs, to incur the risk of distracting attention
entirely from the prisoner.
Mr. Hildreth's examination being at an end, Mr. Orcutt proceeded with
his case, by furnishing proof calculated to fix the moment at which Mr.
Hildreth had made his call. This was done in much the same way as it was
at the inquest. Mrs. Clemmens' next-door neighbor, Mrs. Danton, was
summoned to the stand, and after her her two children, the testimony of
the three, taken with Mr. Hildreth's own acknowledgments, making it very
evident to all who listened that he could not have gone into Mrs.
Clemmens' house before a quarter to twelve.
The natural inference followed. Allowing the least possible time for his
interview with Mrs. Clemmens, the moment at which the witness swore to
having seen her alive and unhurt must have been as late as ten minutes
before noon.
Taking pains to impress this time upon the jury, Mr. Orcutt next
proceeded to fix the moment at which the prisoner arrived at Monteith
Quarry Station. As the fact of his having arrived in time to take the
afternoon train to Buffalo had been already proved by the prosecution,
it was manifestly necessary only to determine at what hour the train was
due, and whether it had come in on time.
The hour was ascertained, by direct consultation with the road's
time-table, to be just twenty minutes past one, and the station-master
having been called to the stand, gave it as his best knowledge and
belief that the train had been on time.
This, however, not being deemed explicit enough for the purposes of the
defence, there was submitted to the jury a telegram bearing the date of
that same day, and distinctly stating that the train was on time. This
was testified to by the conductor of the train as having been sent by
him to the superintendent of the road who was awaiting the cars at
Monteith; and was received as evidence and considered as conclusively
fixing the hour at which the prisoner arrived at the Quarry Station as
twenty minutes past one.
This settled, witnesses were called to testify as to the nature of the
path by which he must have travelled from the widow's house to the
station. A chart similar to that Mr. Byrd had drawn, but more explicit
and nice in its details, was submitted to the jury by an actual surveyor
of the ground; after which, and the establishment of other minor details
not necessary to enumerate here, a man of well-known proficiency in
running and other athletic sports, was summoned to the stand.