THE ARREST.
Carlos drove into Dalton terribly depressed and apprehensive. In the
rain-storm he had turned up the collar of his coat and buttoned it
tightly, thus shielding from the rain a portion of the blood stains. He
saw that these were not entirely washed off. The words of the murderer
in regard to fastening the crime on him still rang in his ears.
“If I could have returned immediately,” he thought, “instead of waiting
until morning, it would have been better. What will people say? They
are talking about it now.”
In a misery of doubt and despondency he drove up the street.
Some one caught sight of him, and uttering an exclamation to a little
knot or men, pointed at him.
Still Carlos drove on, determined to encounter whatever might come.
Five or six men rushed to the carriage, and one, seizing the horse’s
head, stopped him.
“That’s the man!” exclaimed one.
“Yes, that’s one of the nephews,” said another.
“Where’s your cousin?” demanded a third.
“Yes, tell us that! Where were you both all night?”
Others ran to the spot, until there was a crowd around the carriage.
“Gentlemen,” said Carlos, “I know what you are talking about, but I am
innocent――――”
“Oh, yes, of course. But you were not in bed last night, as a peaceable
citizen should be!”
“I went to Knoxtown to a concert――――”
“Yes, he looks like a man that has been to a concert, doesn’t he?”
“Wait till I explain. I returned by the road that passes Colonel
Conrad’s house, and saw a light in his window. I went to see what it
meant, and horror-stricken――――”
At this juncture a tall, keen-eyed man, who had not joined in the
sagacious exclamations that had come from others in the crowd, stepped
up and said:
“See here, young man, you are excited and agitated. But you are not on
the witness stand. You are not obliged to answer any questions or make
any explanations here. You can see enough to know that the people think
you have murdered Colonel Conrad. My advice is that you keep silent.
You will be arrested and examined, and then will be time enough to talk.
It isn’t best to say too much now.”
The man seemed to be moved to compassion at his distressed face, and
spoke kindly though decisively.
“Thank you, sir,” said Carlos. “I will act on your advice. Where is the
officer? I am ready to give myself up.”
He leaned back in the carriage seat, folding his arms.
Some of the crowd grumbled, but the man who had spoken reminded them
that the street was not a court-room, and that there was a manner
provided by law for proceeding in the case.
At this juncture two policemen approached and jumped into the carriage.
One of them slipped a pair of handcuffs on Carlos, and the other took
the reins. They drove to the jail, where Carlos was conducted into a
cell and locked up, and left alone.
The excitement under which he had labored, and which had subsided into
depression, now deepened into intense gloom. That his uncle should die
immediately after he had delivered the message from his father, and
before the result was made known, was a sufficiently deplorable event.
The manner in which he had met his death was still more terrible. But
that Carlos himself should be accused, with apparently good reason, of
being the murderer, seemed to be the culmination of misfortune. He gave
way to the burden that was cast upon him, and for hours his mind was in
a hopelessly torpid state.
He made no reply to the question as to whether he desired counsel, and
so dead did he seem to everything passing around him, that the jailer
deemed it best to call in a physician.
Dr. Davison was summoned. He was the tall, keen-eyed man that had
offered the timely counsel to Carlos when he was besieged by the crowd.
When he entered the cell the prisoner was apparently unaware of his
presence.
The physician felt of his pulse, looked at his face critically, and
examined the eyes that refused to direct their glance at him.
“He is in a kind of stupor now,” he said. “His trouble has overcome him.
I will come again in an hour.”
Toward noon he returned, and gave the prisoner something stimulating.
Carlos looked up; a flash of intelligence passed across his face.
“Ah,” he said, “you are the gentleman that gave me advice this morning.
What are you doing here now?”
“I am a physician,” replied Dr. Davison. “In that capacity I am your
friend. How do you feel?”
“I scarcely know. My head seems confused. I can hardly think.”
“But it will be necessary for you to think. You are now ill. You have
some fever, and are discouraged. But, with the help of my medicine and
your own resolution, you must be aroused. You are resting under a grave
charge. It is not for me to say whether you are guilty or innocent――――”
Illustration: “IT IS NOT FOR ME TO SAY WHETHER YOU ARE GUILTY
OR INNOCENT.”
“Before God, I am innocent!” exclaimed Carlos. “I can explain――――”
“Yes; but you must not explain now. Do not say anything to me. I don’t
want to have to repeat words in court that may damage you. You must
employ a lawyer, and a good one. Pardon me, but I feel an interest in
you. You don’t look like a ruffian.”
“Thank you. Those few words encourage me. I know the evidence that is
against me, and it is strong. But it is surely impossible for me to be
convicted, when I am innocent. Such a wrong cannot take place.”
“Any wrong may take place,” said the doctor, quietly, “if no effort is
made to stay it. But I have no right to talk to you. My duty relates
only to your health. You will be all right if you will follow my
directions. You will probably employ a lawyer, and, as the examination
will take place this afternoon, you had better have a consultation as
soon as you feel able to endure it. Take one of these powders every
half-hour. Good-day.”
“Good-day,” said Carlos. “I am greatly obliged to you.”
After Doctor Davison was gone, he meditated for some time upon the
course he should take. He finally sent for the jailer, and inquired the
names of the legal profession of Dalton.
“Well,” said the jailer, “there’s Squire Bailey; he’s an old one, and
been pretty lucky; there’s McDonald, who is just busy all the time with
civil suits, though I don’t think he’s had much to do with criminal
cases; and there’s Royalton, who, though a young man, has served one
term as district-attorney. He, of course, has had some experience in
prosecuting, and might know better how to meet the case on that account.
He is death on badgering a witness and can make a jury think almost
anything he has a mind to.”
“I suppose he stands well in the community?”
“Oh, bless you, yes. One of the leaders of society; goes to church
regularly; and just now very popular on account of taking sides against
a railroad company that’s trying to cram a pretty big dose down the
people’s throats.”
“Well,” said Carlos, “I think I’ll retain him, if possible. Will you be
so kind as to send for him?”
“Certainly; can I do anything to make you comfortable?”
“No, thank you. I would like to have Mr. Royalton come as soon as
possible.”
In less than half an hour the lawyer was conducted into the presence of
Carlos. The two were left alone.
Mr. Royalton was rather tall, of erect stature, and commanding presence.
A dark mustache and flowing side-whiskers graced a face of intelligence
and decision. His eyes were dauntless and searching in their expression;
and his whole countenance and general air indicated a man of energy
and deliberate promptness, so to speak, in pursuing any undertaking
in which he might be engaged.
He bowed courteously to Carlos. The latter spoke at once:
“My full name,” he said, “is Carlos Conrad. And yours――――”
The lawyer handed him a printed card, which read as follows:
“CHAS. H. ROYALTON,
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELOR AT LAW,
_Dalton_.”
“I am here under a terrible charge,” said Carlos.
“Yes,” said Mr. Royalton. “Do you wish to retain me?”
“Certainly, if you will consent to act in my behalf. As a preliminary,
permit me to advance this.”
He extended a hundred-dollar bill, which Mr. Royalton accepted, with a
bow.
“I have a bank account in New York of three thousand dollars, on which
I can draw in case of necessity,” said Carlos.
“Very good,” said Mr. Royalton. “And now you must state to me, without
reserve, all circumstances connected with this affair. Whether you are
committed for trial or not, we must make as good a show as possible at
the examination. Let me have your perfect confidence.”
Carlos then related to Mr. Royalton the arrival of himself and Leonard
in Dalton, and told every circumstance of their stay up to the fatal
evening. Of the occurrences associated with the murder he gave a
detailed account. The lawyer listened attentively, and made occasional
notes on an envelope he took from his pocket. His countenance did not
change during the entire recital, and at its close Carlos could not
discern his thoughts concerning the aspect of the case. He meditated
for a moment, and then asked:
“What was the nature of the misunderstanding between your uncle and
your father?”
“It was a family matter,” replied Carlos, “in which Geoffrey Haywood
was, as I have said, the prime mischief-maker.”
“Have you any evidence of this?”
“None but that contained in the accounts I left with my uncle.”
“That is unfortunate. Haywood stands well in Dalton.”
“I do not think there will be any necessity of bringing it up,” said
Carlos. “It has no bearing on the case. I would prefer that it be not
mentioned.”
“Why?”
“First, because it is strictly of a private nature, and, now that the
brothers are both dead, is of no concern to any one. My only errand
was to convince my uncle that he had no cause for enmity against my
father. Whether I succeeded in this I do not know, and probably never
shall. Second, my unsupported word would probably go for little against
that of Haywood. He would probably make the old enmity operate against
me. If the matter is alluded to at all, the house of the late Colonel
Conrad ought to be searched, and the documents found and exhibited in
full.”
“You may be right,” said Mr. Royalton. “We will let that point drop,
since you desire it. Where is your cousin, Leonard Lester?”
“I do not know. I supposed that he would return from his fishing
excursion last evening, but from what some one in the crowd said this
morning, I infer that he did not.”
“He ought to be found. His testimony may be wanted.”
“On what point? He knew nothing of the murder.”
“The question might arise as to the character of the interview with
your uncle――whether there was any quarrel or misunderstanding.”
“There was no quarrel, unless――――”
“Unless what?”
“He at first attempted to slander my father, and I used some high words,
perhaps. But it soon passed over.”
“Humph! We will hope that nobody was within hearing distance!”
Carlos stared a moment, and then a shade passed over his face. He saw
the force of the lawyer’s remark.
“I have been thinking of one thing,” he at length said, “and that is
what the murderer could have wanted of the slip of paper I took from
my uncle’s hand. It contained only the words, ‘seven o’clock,’ which
certainly have no meaning in themselves.”
“Have you it here now?”
“Yes, here it is.”
The lawyer took it and examined it.
“It is a torn fragment,” he said.
“Yes,” replied Carlos, “and I judge from the envelope lying on the
table that my uncle must have been writing. He was, perhaps, holding an
unfinished letter in his hand and looking it over. The murderer jerked
it hastily, and tore it, leaving this piece in his victim’s grasp. Now
whether it contains the finishing words of some information conveyed
in the larger part, is more than I know. But that is the only theory by
which I can account for the villain’s anxiety to obtain it.”
The lawyer considered for a moment. Finally he said:
“I will think about it. This point may be worthy of special attention.
But say nothing about this, or any other feature of the case, to any
living person. Keep your mouth resolutely closed against all ears but
mine.”
Carlos promised to observe this caution.
“And now,” said Mr. Royalton, “listen. First, for fear that my words
may discourage you, let me declare my belief in your innocence, and
assure you that not an effort shall be left unmade in your behalf.
But the case has a bad look. Colonel Conrad received thirty thousand
dollars in gold, yesterday, and _that cannot be found_. Leonard Lester
is missing, and people have jumped at the conclusion that he is your
accomplice, and that his fishing excursion was a ruse, and that he has
made off with the gold to some point where you intend to join him.”
“Good Heaven!” ejaculated Carlos. “_You_ do not believe this?”
“Certainly not. But you see again the importance of your cousin being
here.”
“Yes. I am at a loss to think what can have delayed his return.”
“We will hope that he will appear in due time. And now you must put
yourself entirely in my hands. You see what a coloring circumstantial
evidence can give an affair. Your own consciousness of innocence will
go for naught against it. Everything depends on shrewd management and
careful working. I must now leave you and study over my plans. As for
yourself, be ready at the examination to follow whatever course I may
indicate. I will now say to you, confidentially, that I believe this
murder was committed with some other object than that of robbery――that
there is some _dark unknown purpose at the bottom of it_. If you ask
me why, I must decline to tell. Perhaps I could not reply in terms
sufficiently definite to be satisfactory and convincing to you.”
“I leave everything to you,” said Carlos.
“That is right. Good-day.”
“Good-day.”
After the lawyer was gone, and the stimulus of mental occupation no
longer remained, Carlos began to feel ill again. A languor seized him,
followed by a chill, which was in turn succeeded by a paroxysm of fever.
Doctor Davison was again summoned, and on the strength of his report
of the prisoner’s condition, the examination was postponed to the
following day.