I Have an Inspiration
I stared at the lines in dumb bewilderment. "The man Rogers is lying."
But what conceivable motive could he have for lying? Besides, as I
looked at him on the stand, I would have sworn that he was telling the
truth, and very much against his will. I had always rather prided
myself upon my judgment of human nature--had I erred so egregiously in
this instance? "The woman who was with Holladay wore a gown of dark
green." Who was the writer of the note? How did he know the color of
her gown? There was only one possible way he could know--he knew the
woman. Plainly, too, he must have been present at the morning hearing.
But if he knew so much, why did he not himself come forward? To this,
too, there was but one answer--he must be an accomplice. But then,
again, if he were an accomplice, why should he imperil himself by
writing this note, for it could very probably be traced? I found
myself deeper in the mire, farther from the light, at every step.
"Do you wish to summon any witnesses, Mr. Royce?" asked the coroner
again. "I shall be glad to adjourn the hearing until to-morrow if you
do."
Mr. Royce roused himself with an effort.
"Thank you, sir," he said. "I may ask you to do that later on. Just at
present, I wish to recall Mr. Rogers."
"Very well," said the coroner, and Rogers was summoned from the
witness room.
I looked at him attentively, trying to fathom his thoughts, to read
behind his eyes; but look as I might, I could see nothing in his face
save concern and grief. He had grown gray in Holladay's office; he had
proved himself, a hundred times, a man to be relied on; he had every
reason to feel affection and gratitude toward his employer, and I was
certain that he felt both; he received a liberal salary, I knew, and
was comfortably well-to-do.
That he himself could have committed the crime or been concerned in it
in any way was absolutely unthinkable. Yet why should he lie? Above
all, why should he seek to implicate his employer's daughter? Even if
he wished to implicate her, how could he have known the color of her
gown? What dark, intricate problem was this that confronted us?
In the moment that followed, I saw that Mr. Royce was studying him,
too, was straining to find a ray of light for guidance. If we failed
now----
I read the note through again--"a gown of dark green"--and suddenly,
by a kind of clairvoyance, the solution of the mystery leaped forth
from it. I leaned over to my chief, trembling with eagerness.
"Mr. Royce," I whispered hoarsely, "I believe I've solved the puzzle.
Hold Rogers on the stand a few moments until I get back."
He looked up at me astonished; then nodded, as I seized my hat, and
pushed my way through the crowd. Once outside the building, I ran to
the nearest dry-goods house--three blocks away it was, and what
fearfully long blocks they seemed!--then back again to the courtroom.
Rogers was still on the stand, but a glance at Mr. Royce told me that
he had elicited nothing new.
"You take him, Lester," he said, as I sat down beside him. "I'm worn
out."
Quivering with apprehension, I arose. It was the first time I had been
given the center of the stage in so important a case. Here was my
opportunity! Suppose my theory should break down, after all!
"Mr. Rogers," I began, "you've been having some trouble with your
eyes, haven't you?"
He looked at me in surprise.
"Why, yes, a little," he said. "Nothing to amount to anything. How
did you know?"
My confidence had come back again. I was on the right track, then!
"I did not know," I said, smiling for the first time since I had
entered the room. "But I suspected. I have here a number of pieces of
cloth of different colors. I should like you to pick out the one that
most nearly approximates the color of the gown your visitor wore
yesterday afternoon."
I handed him the bundle of samples, and as I did so, I saw the
district attorney lean forward over his desk with attentive face. The
witness looked through the samples slowly, while I watched him with
feverish eagerness. Mr. Royce had caught an inkling of my meaning and
was watching him, too.
"There's nothing here," said Rogers, at last, "which seems quite the
shade. But this is very near it."
He held up one of the pieces. With leaping heart, I heard the gasp of
astonishment which ran around the room. The jurymen were leaning
forward in their chairs.
"And what is the color of that piece?" I asked.
"Why, dark red. I've stated that already."
I glanced triumphantly at the coroner.
"Your honor," I said, as calmly as I could, "I think we've found the
flaw in the chain. Mr. Rogers is evidently color-blind. As you see,
the piece he has selected is a dark green."
The whole audience seemed to draw a deep breath, and a little clatter
of applause ran around the room. I could hear the scratch, scratch of
the reporters' pencils--here was a situation after their hearts'
desire! Mr. Royce had me by the hand, and was whispering brokenly in
my ear.
"My dear fellow; you're the best of us all; I'll never forget it!"
But Rogers was staring in amazement from me to the cloth in his hand,
and back again.
"Green!" he stammered. "Color-blind! Why, that's nonsense! I've never
suspected it!"
"That's probable enough," I assented. "The failing is no doubt a
recent one. Most color-blind persons don't know it until their sight
is tested. Of course, we shall have an oculist examine you; but I
think this evidence is pretty conclusive."
Coroner Goldberg nodded, and the district attorney settled back in his
chair.
"We've no further questions to ask this witness at present," I
continued. "Only I'd like you to preserve this piece of cloth, sir,"
and I handed it to Goldberg. He placed it with the other exhibits on
his desk, and I sat down again beside my chief. He had regained all
his old-time energy and keenness--he seemed another man.
"I should like to recall Miss Holladay's maid, if you please," he
said; and the girl was summoned, while Rogers stumbled dazedly off to
the witness room.
"You're quite sure your mistress wore a dark red gown yesterday
afternoon?" he asked, when the girl was on the stand again.
"Oh, yes, sir; quite sure."
"It was not dark green? Think carefully, now!"
"I don't have to think!" she retorted sharply, with a toss of her
head. "Miss Holladay hasn't any dark green gown--nor light one,
either. She never wears green--she doesn't like it--it doesn't suit
her."
"That will do," said Mr. Royce, and the girl went back to the witness
room without understanding in the least the meaning of the questions.
"Now, let us have the office-boy again," he said, and that young
worthy was called out.
"You say you didn't see the face of that woman who left your office
yesterday afternoon?"
"No, sir."
"But you saw her gown?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
"And what color was it?"
"Dark green, sir."
"That will do," said our junior, and sank back in his chair with a
sigh of relief. The solution had been under our hands in the morning,
and we had missed it! Well, we had found it now. "Gentlemen," he
added, his voice a-ring, his face alight, as he sprang to his feet and
faced the jury, "I'm ready for your verdict. I wish only to point out
that with this one point, the whole case against my client falls to
the ground! It was preposterous from the very first!"
He sat down again, and glanced at the coroner.
"Gentlemen of the jury," began Goldberg, "I have merely to remind you
that your verdict, whatever it may be, will not finally affect this
case. The police authorities will continue their investigations in
order that the guilty person may not escape. I conceive that it is
not within our province to probe this case further--that may be left
to abler and more experienced hands; nor do I think we should
inculpate anyone so long as there is a reasonable doubt of his guilt.
We await your verdict."
The jury filed slowly out, and I watched them anxiously. In face of
the coroner's instructions, they could bring in but one verdict; yet I
knew from experience that a jury is ever an unknown quantity, often
producing the most unexpected results.
The district attorney came down from his seat and shook hands with
both of us.
"That was a great stroke!" he said, with frank admiration. "Whatever
made you suspect?"
Mr. Royce handed him the note for answer. He read it through, and
stared back at us in astonishment.
"Why," he began, "who wrote this?"
"That's the note that was delivered to us a while ago," answered Mr.
Royce. "You know as much about it as we do. But it seems to me a
pretty important piece of evidence. I turn it over to you."
"Important!" cried Singleton. "I should say so! Why, gentlemen," and
his eyes were gleaming, "this was written either by an accomplice or
by the woman herself!"
My chief nodded.
"Precisely," he said. "I'd get on the track of the writer without
delay."
Singleton turned and whispered a few words to a clerk, who hurried
from the room. Then he motioned to two smooth-faced, well-built men
who sat near by, spoke a word to the coroner, and retired with them
into the latter's private office. The reporters crowded about us with
congratulations and questions. They scented a mystery. What was the
matter with Singleton? What was the new piece of evidence? Was it the
note? What was in the note?
Mr. Royce smiled.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I trust that my connection with this affair
will end in a very few minutes. For any further information, I must
refer you to the district attorney--the case is in his hands."
But those men he had summoned into his office were Karle and Johnston,
the cleverest detectives on the force. What did he want with them? Mr.
Royce merely shrugged his shoulders. Whereat the reporters deserted
him and massed themselves before the door into the coroner's room. It
opened in a moment, and the two detectives came hurrying out. They
looked neither to the right nor left, but shouldered their way cruelly
through the crowd, paying not the slightest attention to the questions
showered upon them. Then the district attorney came out, and took in
the situation at a glance.
"Gentlemen," he said, raising his voice, "I can answer no questions. I
must request you to resume your seats, or I shall ask the coroner to
clear the room."
They knew that he meant what he said, so they went back to their
chairs chagrined, disgusted, biting their nails, striving vainly to
work out a solution to the puzzle. It was the coroner's clerk who
created a diversion.
"The jury is ready to report, sir," he announced.
"Very well; bring them out," and the jurymen filed slowly back to
their seats. I gazed at each face, and cursed the inexpressiveness of
the human countenance.
"Have you arrived at a verdict, gentlemen?" asked the coroner.
"We have, sir," answered one of them, and handed a paper to the clerk.
"Is this your verdict, gentlemen?" asked the coroner. "Do you all
concur in it?"
They answered in the affirmative as their names were called.
"The clerk will read the verdict," said Goldberg.
Julius stood up and cleared his throat.
"We, the jury," he read, "impaneled in the case of Hiram W. Holladay,
deceased, do find that he came to his death from a stab wound in the
neck, inflicted by a pen-knife in the hands of a person or persons
unknown."