JUSTICE, SACRIFICE, DEATH.
And there is confusion in the court room.
Mr. Rand bounds angrily to his feet, then reseats himself suddenly, and
without opening his lips.
As they bear Frank Lamotte from the room, O'Meara's voice rises and
rings clear above the buzz and bustle:
"That witness must not be permitted to leave the court."
Then he stands gazing about him like a small, rampant lion; his eyes
flashing, his nostrils quivering, his whole manner betokening that he is
warming to his work.
Presently the room is quiet again, and O'Meara addresses the court:
"Your honor, and gentlemen; I have been successful beyond my
expectations. You see what a guilty conscience can do. I wished to
convince this court that my client has enemies in W----; powerful,
unsuspected, enemies. I wished also to demonstrate to Mr. Rand, how easy
it is to obtain circumstantial evidence. The witness may recover at his
leisure. I have nothing more to say to him."
While he is speaking, Mr. Lamotte and Doctor Benoit, who had hastened
out to attend upon Frank, re-enter, and resume their places, the former
looking harassed and uneasy, the latter, bland as ever, and nodding an
assurance that the patient is recovering safely.
"My next witness," says O'Meara, "is private detective Jerry Belknap;
but, before this gentleman is sworn, I desire the clerk to read aloud,
_very_ loud, the testimony lately given by Mr. Jasper Lamotte. I want
Mr. Lamotte's testimony to be fresh in the minds of the jury when they
listen to Mr. Belknap."
Strive as he will, Jasper Lamotte can not wear a look of entire
unconcern, although his self-control is marvellous.
What does Jerry Belknap know concerning this case? Why is _he_ here as a
witness? Mr. Lamotte is speedily enlightened.
While the clerk reads his recent testimony, Jerry Belknap takes his
place upon the stand. Not the Belknap Jasper Lamotte has known; not the
Belknap of Constance Wardour's recollection; but Jerry Belknap, in
_propria persona_, shorn of all disguise.
He is a man well up in his thirties, medium in height, slender in
person, with a dark, smooth shaven face, keen, restless eyes, black,
closely cropped hair.
The clerk having finished the reading, Mr. O'Meara addresses the witness
with marked courtesy.
"Mr. Belknap, you have heard the reading of Mr. Lamotte's testimony. You
have heard Mr. Rand say that two important witnesses are absent, namely,
a certain Brooks, and Mrs. Nance Burrill. You have heard Mr. Lamotte say
that he knows nothing of the whereabouts of Nance Burrill, that he knows
nothing of Brooks.
"Now, as Mr. Lamotte can not enlighten us, and as the attorney for the
prosecution is very anxious about these two witnesses, will you just
tell the court what you know of Mr. Brooks, and Nance Burrill, as
connected with this case?"
Jerry Belknap bows to O'Meara, bows to the Court, wipes his mouth with a
white silk handkerchief, and begins:
"I came to W---- on professional business, and, having obtained
permission, through Mr. O'Meara, I may state here what that business
was.
"I came on behalf of Miss Wardour, to investigate the noted diamond
robbery. I have been in and about W---- for some time, but always in
disguise, this being the first time my real face has been visible.
"Not long ago a stranger accosted me and put into my hands a letter. The
letter bade me follow the instructions of the bearer of the same without
fear, or question. Now Mr. Bathurst commands me at all times, and like a
good soldier I obeyed my superior officer. I placed myself under the
orders of Mr. Bathurst's deputy, who is himself a clever detective, and
this is what he told me:
"Mr. Bathurst had been operating in W---- for weeks, under my very nose,
and, although I knew him, and am called a tolerable detective, I never
found him out. He knew me, however, from the first, knew me all along,
although I, several times, changed my disguise. _His_ disguise was too
perfect, and he is too good an actor, ever to betray himself.
"That disguise having served his purpose, and having been thrown aside
for good, I can safely comply with Mr. O'Meara's request and oblige the
gentleman for the prosecution.
"The missing witness known as Brooks, the red-headed drunken mechanic,
was officer Bathurst and none other."
Again there is a buzz in the court room.
The prisoner turns upon his counsel a look of profound wonder.
Constance clasps her hands delightedly and begins to brighten with hope.
Jasper Lamotte wears a look of consternation.
"Mr. Bathurst's instructions were brief," resumes Mr. Belknap after a
moment's pause. "I was to present myself to Mr. Lamotte under some
pretext of business. I am slightly known to Mr. Lamotte through my
connection with the Wardour case and could approach him without creating
suspicion. I was to accept any commissions he might wish me to execute.
"I presented myself to Jasper Lamotte; he had a piece of work for me. He
told me that he had good reasons for wishing the woman Nance Burrill out
of the town; he wished her no harm, but she was in his way. If I would
get her away, on some pretext, he would pay me well. Acting under
instructions, I approached the woman, making her acquaintance easily
through her little boy. She is very ignorant and very foolish. I
displayed a little money, offered her a profitable situation in New
York, paid her a month's wages in advance and took her and her child to
the city, where I hired a small furnished cottage, and installed her as
housekeeper. Not being informed that her evidence was wanted on this
occasion she is there still."
When Jerry Belknap began his story, Jasper Lamotte had drawn nearer to
the prosecuting attorney, and, before the story was done, a slip of
paper had made its way into the hands of the latter gentleman, bearing
these words:
"For God's sake don't cross-examine that witness."
Consequently, in response to O'Meara's unnecessarily polite query, "Will
the attorney for the prosecution be pleased to cross-examine this
witness?"--Mr. Rand only scowled over at his antagonist, and shook his
head savagely.
"This, I trust," begins O'Meara, before the last witness is fairly
seated, "sufficiently explains the absence of these two _important_
witnesses. It would seem that the absence of one at least was more
important than her presence. Mr. Lamotte, at least, should be grateful.
He desired Nance Burrill's absence; she is not here; and as no summons
was issued for this woman--either by the prosecution or defense, no one
can accuse me of hampering the progress of the law, and of this
honorable court."
Mr. Rand bounds up, fire in his eye.
"It may not be rulable nor dignified," he begins hotly, "but I demand a
moment's hearing. This whole trial has been irregular, from first to
last.
"The gentleman brings forward an honorable witness from over the water;
a witness who brings out the accused in a new character; covers him with
a blaze of glory; this is very good, and very theatrical. Let us grant
that the accused _is_ Sir Clifford Heathercliffe. Does that alter the
fact that John Burrill went straight to his door, straight to the door
of his sworn enemy, and was never again seen alive. He seeks to
implicate Frank Lamotte, and to impeach the integrity of Jasper Lamotte,
an honorable gentleman, against whom there was never yet a breath of
suspicion. It will not alter the facts in the case. Clifford Heath's
enemy was found dead close by Clifford Heath's door! He has blackened
the character of the dead; he has struck hard at the honorable living.
He has flooded the court with the testimony of mysterious strangers; he
has suppressed known witnesses; he has worked his will with us. But he
has not disproved one item of evidence; he has not changed one fact or
phase of the case. Let us grant all he has proven, what have we left?
_The unalterable facts_, that the prisoner has repeatedly threatened his
victim; that the murdered man set out to visit the prisoner, at night,
through the darkness, and was found early the following morning, before
the body could be removed to a safer hiding place, his face covered by
the prisoner's own linen; his gaping wounds giving evidence of a
practiced hand; the prisoner's knife buried with him; the _key_ of the
prisoner's office or house lying beside the shallow grave. Facts tell,
gentlemen; these _are facts_."
These words rush from his lips torrent like.
He has turned to face the jury and so does not see that O'Meara has
lounged back to his seat, with an air of perfect unconcern, and that he
is actually signaling the judge not to stay this whirlwind; a proceeding
which so astounds that official, that for full five minutes the tide of
speech flows on, lava like.
On the audience, it has a startling effect. He is speaking the truth. He
is reiterating facts, and facts are sure of instant recognition by our
Yankee countrymen.
A thrill runs through the assembly; there comes one of those sudden
revulsions of feeling, common to scenes like this. Sir Clifford
Heathercliffe disappears from before their dazzled vision; what they
see, in the light of stern facts, is Clifford Heath, the murderer.
"These are facts," reiterates Mr. Rand, excitedly. "Who has seen this
wonderful Bathurst, with his bundle of testimony? Who knows the man? Why
is he not here in court? _Where is he?_"
"_Here!_"
Clear and full the voice rings over the room, transfixing for one moment
the entire court; then the gavel descends; order is commanded with
double unction, because of the recent lapse. Mr. O'Meara is on his feet;
Mr. Rand's impromptu speech is at an end.
"More theatricals," snarls Mr. Rand, flinging himself violently down
into his seat.
But no one heeds him; all eyes are fixed upon the new comers.
Near the door of the court room they stand grouped close together.
Mr. Wedron, dignified and placid as usual.
Mrs. Lamotte, with head proudly poised, and eyes that seem wells of
pent-up anguish.
Evan Lamotte, looking like a lost and almost disembodied spirit.
Frank Lamotte, who during the time Mr. Belknap has occupied in giving
his testimony, has quietly re-entered the room, seeming to have
recovered, and looking almost composed, looks with the rest, and is once
more, for a moment, startled out of all semblance of calmness; he starts
up from his seat, then sinks back weakly, a desperate hunted look in his
eyes, his hands clenched and working nervously.
They came slowly forward--Evan Lamotte, supported on either side by his
mother and the _soi-disant_ Mr. Wedron, of the New York Bar.
[Illustration: They come slowly forward.]
They pass so close that the lady's trailing silks brush against the feet
of Jasper Lamotte, but she never vouchsafes a glance to husband or son,
and Evan's eyes are set straight before him, fixed on vacancy--unseeing
orbs of fire, set in a spectral face.
Presently, they are seated near the group gathered about the prisoner,
and then Mr. Wedron confers with Mr. O'Meara.
As they talk, the little lawyer's face becomes grave, even to sadness,
and when he rises to address the Court, his tone is subdued, his manner
that of one performing a painful task.
"May it please the Court," he says, slowly, "the witnesses for whom I
waited have come. As one of them is just recovering from a serious
illness, Mr. Bathurst has thought it best that a reliable physician
should certify to his perfect ability to testify at this time. Let
Doctor Benoit be sworn."
It is done, and in the same grave and subdued manner Doctor Benoit bears
witness, as follows:
"I have been in attendance at Mapleton for some weeks past. Evan Lamotte
has been one of my patients. He has been very ill, and delirious almost
constantly. It is less than a week since he entirely recovered his
reasoning faculties. To-day, at the request of Mr. Wedron, I subjected
him to various tests, and I freely pronounce him perfectly sane--as sane
as any here in this court room. If any one is inclined to question my
statement, I shall desire Professor Harrington and Doctor Gaylor to
examine the witness."
There is profound silence for a moment, then O'Meara says, quietly:
"Will Detective Bathurst take the stand?"
The gentleman who has become known to many in W---- as Mr. Wedron, of
the New York Bar, left his place near Evan Lamotte, and came quietly
forward. Having been duly sworn, Mr. O'Meara said:
"Mr. Bathurst, you have been connected with this case from the first.
Tell us what you have discovered, in your own way."
The detective bowed, took off a pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses, and
turned upon the court a pair of bright, piercing, handsome, dark blue
eyes, that proved themselves capable of numberless expressions.
"My name is Neil J. Bathurst," he began, "and I am a detective. I came
to W---- for the first time early in the summer--in June, I believe. I
came on professional business. To my surprise, and quite by accident, I
found Sir Clifford Heathercliffe here in the character of Doctor Heath.
My business in W---- was in no way connected with Sir Clifford, but
before I left the town, which was on the third day after my arrival, I
became aware that he had an enemy here. I left W---- to return in a
short time, and I figured among the factory people as Brooks, the
drunken mechanic. Mr. Lamotte employed me twice and twice discharged me
because of my intemperance. I became quite intimate and friendly with
John Burrill, and succeeded in gaining his confidence. I was also on
good terms with Nance Burrill, John Burrill's divorced wife, and I
learned a good many things from her.
"Early in the autumn it came to my knowledge that Sir Clifford's enemies
had begun to move, that a plan was on foot against him. About this time
I discovered that several people needed looking after, and I sent for a
boy shadower. He came, and did his work well. He is not here, because
his testimony is not needed.
"You will understand that I had now more than one operation on my hands.
I was still engaged upon the case which first brought me to W----, and I
was intent upon frustrating the designs of Sir Clifford's enemies. He,
Sir Clifford, was not aware of my presence in W----, and he was likewise
ignorant of the plot against him.
"Early in November, I found it expedient to appear in W---- in a new
character. Brooks had done his work. Accordingly, I, as Brooks, set out
for the city one morning, leaving my shadower in charge of the field.
Jasper Lamotte went to the city by the same train, and, singular
coincidence, he came back on the train which brought me. I returned, as
Mr. Wedron, an attorney, and I brought with me an assistant (for the
plot was thickening fast), who assumed the character of a book peddler.
I was absent only two days, but, during that time, the entire drama had
undergone a transformation.
"Before I had been half an hour in W----, I had received the report of
my shadower; it was startling. John Burrill had been murdered. Here was
a disappointment. I had fully intended that Burrill should do some
honest work in the State penitentiary, and was almost prepared to make
some arrests. I attended the inquest, and was again discomfited. The
enemies of Sir Clifford had abandoned their first infamous scheme for
his ruin, and had succeeded in fastening this miserable crime upon him.
Standing there in the presence of all the actors in the tragedy, and
listening to the witnesses before the coroner, I decided what course to
pursue. I would make my other operations a secondary affair, and devote
myself to the task of finding John Burrill's murderer. I presented
myself to Mr. O'Meara, and made known my identity; we decided to act
together, and at once set to work.
"I knew that Francis Lamotte was Sir Clifford's secret enemy, and,
naturally, I began to study him, and to watch him. You have heard his
testimony to-day, and you know how easy it would have been for him,
first to follow and to kill John Burrill, and next to cast suspicion
upon an innocent man. I could prefer a charge against him, and bring
some circumstantial evidence to back it; but this would not vindicate
Sir Clifford, and would complicate affairs very much. What I wanted, was
_proof_ positive, absolute. So I waited, and studied the case. Of one
thing I was assured; Francis Lamotte, whether guilty or innocent, knew
more of that murder than he chose to tell.
"One day, while in conversation with Miss Wardour, I chanced to mention
the name of Evan Lamotte, adding something not complimentary to that
young gentleman. Miss Wardour took fire at once. She assured me that
Evan Lamotte was _not_ what people sought to make him; that in spite of
his weaknesses, he had many noble and lovable qualities. She told me how
he came to her when the first shock of his sister's flight was upon him;
she described, vividly, his passion, his sorrow, his love for his
sister. He spoke of her as the only being on earth whom he truly loved,
the only one who had been unvaryingly kind to him. He cursed the
destroyers of his sister's happiness, and implored Miss Wardour not to
abandon that unfortunate sister. He said that he believed she would
return, and he implored her to visit his parents, and intercede in
behalf of the fugitive.
"Miss Wardour gave him the required promise, and then said that if the
real reason for this strange elopement _must_ remain a secret, she
wished they could hit upon some explanation that would spare the
fugitive as much as possible, and satisfy the gossips. Instantly he
sprang up, declaring that he would furnish a reason, a reason that no
one would question, and that would spare his sister.
"A few days later, the story was flying about W----, that to save her
brother Evan from the consequences of some evil deed, Sybil Lamotte had
sacrificed herself.
"When Miss Wardour heard of this, she knew that Evan Lamotte had allowed
himself to be defamed for his sister's sake. She knew that the true
reasons for her friend's _mesalliance_ was hidden safely beneath a
brother's sacrifice.
"Miss Wardour told me this, and much more, in praise of Evan Lamotte;
and here, for his sake, let me say, that in studying John Burrill and
Francis Lamotte, I had discovered that Sybil Lamotte had been made to
believe, that the honor and safety of her father and _elder_ brother,
depended upon her sacrifice, when the truth is, that she was _sold_.
Simply sold--for their convenience, and their gain.
"You have looked upon Jasper Lamotte as an honorable citizen. On the day
of John Burrill's funeral, I resumed my old disguise, that of Brooks,
and went to Mapleton; I told Mr. Lamotte that I had come as a friend of
his, and of Burrill's, to warn him, that if Nance Burrill was allowed to
remain in W----, she would be brought forward at this trial, and give
damaging evidence against his dead son-in-law.
"I remained in the library with him some fifteen minutes. My errand was
a trap, and he fell into it. What followed, Mr. Belknap has already
told. In the presence of this court, Jasper Lamotte has perjured
himself. Let the officers of the law keep this fact in mind.
"Now, to return to my witness. When I heard Miss Wardour's glowing
vindication of Evan Lamotte, I said to myself, 'Here is the right
person. Evan Lamotte is the one who can clear up this mystery.' It was
clear as day to my eyes.
"It was necessary that I should see him, but I very soon learned that he
was lying at his home dangerously ill, and quite out of his senses.
There was nothing to do but to wait. I made the acquaintance of Doctor
Benoit, and from him I obtained daily news of his patient.
"At the eleventh hour, when I had begun to despair of his recovery, the
doctor reported the patient restored to his senses. I then told him,
Doctor Benoit, that the very moment Evan Lamotte was able to listen, and
to talk rationally, I must see him. That the case was one of life and
death.
"This day, at the very hour when the trial was called, I set out for
Mapleton; I saw Evan Lamotte; I told him that Clifford Heath was on
trial for the murder of John Burrill; and that the chances were against
him.
"It is not necessary to repeat all that passed between us, the result
is, that Evan Lamotte comes into this court of his own free will and
accord, and it is his desire that he be allowed to tell his own story.
"He comes here freely, willingly, asking nothing, hoping nothing, and
when this audience has heard his testimony, they will join me in
pronouncing him the noblest Lamotte of them all."
There is a look so weird, so unearthly, in the eyes of Evan Lamotte, as
he comes forward and turns his face slowly upon the audience, so that
all can see its ghastly contrast with those burning orbs, that a
startled hush falls upon them all, a funereal silence pervades the room.
They seem to note for the first time, what a solemn thing is the oath,
which Evan takes with voice, hollow and weak, but calm and fall of
decision.
His breath comes in short gasps, his sentences are broken, the fatigue
caused by his effort to speak is evident. But he goes on to the end, and
this is what he says:
"When I learned that my sister's life had been ruined, I was a madman; I
did not know for a time why she had thus thrown herself away, but I
determined that I would know, and I set myself to spy upon my own
family.
"If the detective had not told you this truth I should withhold it now,
for we all have a sufficient burden of shame upon us.
"I watched and I listened and I learned why Sybil had been sacrificed.
"At first I thought I would openly assault Burrill, would compel him to
resist and would make his life as uncomfortable as possible; I was a
madman.
"Constance Wardour told me it was not the way to help Sybil; that such a
course would only cause her added sorrow. When I grew calmer I saw that
Conny was right. I promised her to do nothing that would add to my poor
sister's unhappiness.
"By and by they came home, and I saw the misery in my sister's face; day
by day it deepened, her eyes growing hollow and wild, and full of
unutterable horror and fear, her face growing paler and thinner, and
sadder, her hands so weak and tremulous, all appealed to me, all
maddened me afresh. I resolved that in some way I would free her. But
how?
"Day after day I brooded upon it. Burrill became more bestial, more
besotted, more contemptible, every day. My sister's strength was almost
gone, her reason was tottering.
"I began to cultivate Burrill. I flattered him; I caroused with him. I
had sunk so low myself that he could feel at ease with me. But drunk or
sober I never once forgot a resolve I had taken. Matters were going from
bad to worse. It must be Sybil's life or _his_. I resolved that it
should _not_ be my sister who was sacrificed.
"When I found that no more time could be wasted, I laid my plans. I
feigned illness and kept my room for several days.
"Burrill came daily to see me. I told him that I had some rare new fun
in my head, and we planned that I should feign to be worse than usual.
Burrill knew that our people had made efforts to stop our nocturnal
expeditions, and he agreed with me that the thing should be kept secret.
On that last night he left the house early, saying that he would spend a
couple of hours at 'Old Forty's,' and then meet me at a place appointed.
"At nine o'clock I stole out, and no one at Mapleton discovered my
absence. I did not intend that they should. I waited at the place
appointed for our meeting until I grew impatient. The time came for him
to appear; he did not come. I knew where I should find him, and set out
for 'Forty Rods.' I was determined to let that night end Sybil's
troubles.
"Half way between the saloon and Doctor Heath's I saw him. He passed
close to me, as I came up from Mill avenue, and reeled across the road.
He was not going toward our rendezvous, but away from it.
"I followed stealthily. I did not make my nearness known. I think he was
too drunk to know where he was going or where to stop. He reeled past
Doctor Heath's house, and was nearly opposite the gate of the empty lot
before he discovered that he had gone too far.
"He turned, and while he leaned against the fence and seemed to ponder,
I crept upon him, knife in hand; I struck him, once, again, a third
time. He uttered one groan loud enough to have been heard some distance
away, and then fell heavily. I had struck home. When I was sure that he
was dead--I seemed to know just how to act--I ran to the gate of the
Burns' lot and opened it wide. The body was twice my weight but I
dragged it inside before my strength gave out.
"Then, for a while, I seemed panic stricken. What should I do with that
body? By and by, I thought of a way to get help. I waited until
midnight, then I made my way to Mapleton, all blood stained, and
carrying the knife with me. Unseen I entered and gained Frank's room. He
was up and pacing the floor; I told him to follow me. He saw my
blood-stained hands and garments; I opened my coat and displayed the
knife, and he obeyed me. I told him what I had done, and that he must
help me conceal the body. For a moment he seemed stunned, and then he
assisted me with surprising readiness; he planned everything; in fact,
took the lead from that moment. I thought he was working to save his
brother. The detective has told me the truth, and abjured me to tell all
I know.
"Frank left me at the foot of the stairs leading to Heath's office. When
he came down he seemed much excited, and hurried on very fast. We
scooped out a grave in the cellar, as best we could in the dark, Frank
working actively. He told me to take my knife and throw it into the old
well--if you look you will find it there. While I was doing it, he must
have put the other knife in the grave. When I came back he had covered
the face with something white. I did not think about it at the time; now
I know that it was Doctor Heath's handkerchief.
"Doctor Heath is an innocent man. _I_ killed John Burrill; I am here to
accept the consequences. I did the deed to save my sister. I do not
regret it."
Then, turning toward the place where Frank Lamotte sits, cowering and
panic stricken, he stretches out one spectral hand and says:
"Frank! Frank Lamotte, do the only thing left you to do; stand up and
say that I have spoken the truth. Let us end this at once, Frank!"
Like one roused from some strange stupor, Frank staggers to his feet.
"It is all true!" he gasps. "Evan has told nothing but the truth." Then
he falls back in his seat more dead than alive.
To describe the triumph of O'Meara; the mingled pity and gladness that
fills the heart of Constance; the rejoicings of Clifford Heath's
friends, one and all; the misery and the shame that overwhelmed the
Lamottes, would be useless.
The excitement of the audience, judge and jury, can be imagined better
than described.
The tragic farce is at an end. The case is given to the jury. Without
quitting their places, they return their verdict. Clifford Heath is not
guilty; is honorably acquitted.
Exhausted by his recent effort, Evan Lamotte is carried from the court
room, closely attended by his mother; is carried to the cell where
lately Clifford Heath has dwelt a prisoner, while the latter is escorted
in triumph, to O'Meara's, by all his rejoicing friends.
As the procession of conquerors moves away from the entrance, an officer
approaches Jasper Lamotte.
"Mr. Lamotte, I am very sorry, sir, but you must consider yourself my
prisoner."
Jasper Lamotte bows coldly, and signals the man that he will follow him.
The officer turns to Frank, but before he can open his lips, the
miserable young man steps back, makes one quick movement; there is a
flash, a loud report, and Frank Lamotte falls forward, to be caught in
the arms of a by-stander.
[Illustration: There is a flash--a loud report.]
They lay him gently down, and Jasper Lamotte bids them send for a
physician; there must be one very near.
But Frank beckons his father to come close, and when the others have
drawn back, this is what the father hears, from the son's lips:
"There is another--pistol in--my pocket--I meant it for Evan,--you--had
better--use it."
Horrible words from the lips of a dying son. They are his last. Before
Doctor Benoit can turn back and reach his side, Frank Lamotte has
finished his career of folly, and sin, and shame, dying as he had lived,
selfishly, like a coward.