THE ALIBI
"And all love's clanging trumpets shocked and blew."
"The executioner's argument was, that you couldn't cut off a
head unless there was a body to cut it off from; that he had
never had to do such a thing before, and he wasn't going to
begin at _his_ time of life."--_Alice in Wonderland._
The justice of the peace, when the county court was not in session, held
hearings in the courtroom proper, which occupied the entire second story
of the county courthouse. The room was crowded. It was a new courthouse;
there are people impatient to try even a new hearse; and this bade fair
to be Arcadia's first _cause celebre_.
Jeff sat in the prisoner's stall, a target for boring eyes. He was
conscious of an undesirable situation; exactly how tight a place it was
he had no means of knowing until he should have heard the evidence. The
room was plainly hostile; black looks were cast upon him. Deputy
Phillips, as he entered arm in arm with the sometime devil, gave the
prisoner an intent but non-committal look, which Jeff rightly
interpreted as assurance of a friend in ambush; he felt unaccountably
sure of the devil's fraternal aid; Monte, lolling within the rail of
the witness-box, smiled across at him. Still, he would have felt better
for another friendly face or two, he thought--say, John Wesley
Pringle's.
Jeff looked from the open window. Cottonwoods, well watered, give
swiftest growth of any trees and are therefore the dominant feature of
new communities in dry lands. The courthouse yard was crowded with them:
Jeff, from the window, could see nothing but their green plumes; and his
thoughts ran naturally upon gardens--or, to be more accurate, upon a
garden.
Would she lose faith in him? Had she heard yet? Would he be able to
clear himself? No mere acquittal would do. Because of Ellinor, there
must be no question, no verdict of Not Proven. She would go East
to-morrow. Perhaps she would not hear of his arrest at all. He hoped
not. The bank robbery, the murder--yes, she would hear of them, perhaps;
but why need she hear his name? Hers was a world so different! He fell
into a muse at this.
Deputy Phillips passed and stood close to him, looking down from the
window. His back was to Jeff; but, under cover of the confused hum of
many voices, he spake low from the corner of his mouth:
"Play your hand close to your bosom, old-timer! Wait for the draw and
watch the dealer!" He strolled over to the other side of the judicial
bench whence he came.
This vulgar speech betrayed Jimmy as one given to evil courses; but to
Jeff that muttered warning was welcome as thunder of Bluecher's squadrons
to British squares at Waterloo.
Down the aisle came a procession consciously important--the prosecuting
attorney; the bank's lawyer, who was to assist, "for the people"; and
Lake himself. As they passed the gate Jeff smiled his sweetest.
"Hello, Wally!" Lake's name was Stephen Walter.
Wally made no verbal response; but his undershot jaw did the steel-trap
act and there was a triumphant glitter in his eye. He turned his broad
back pointedly--and Jeff smiled again.
The justice took his seat on the raised dais intervening between
Jeff and the sheriff's desk. Court was opened. The usual tedious
preliminaries followed. Jeff waived a jury trial, refused a lawyer
and announced that he would call no witnesses at present.
In an impressive stillness the prosecutor rose for his opening
statement. Condensed, it recounted the history of the crime, so far as
known; fixed the time by the watchman's statement--to be confirmed, he
said, by another witness, the telephone girl on duty at that hour, who
had heard the explosion and the ensuing gunshot; touched upon that
watchman's faithful service and his present desperate condition. He told
of the late finding of the injured man, the meeting in the bank, the sum
taken by the robber, and the discovery in the bank of the rubber
nosepiece, which he submitted as Exhibit A. He cited the witnesses by
whom he would prove each statement, and laid special stress upon the
fact that the witness Clarke would testify that the nosepiece had been
found upon the shattered fragments of the safe door--conclusive proof
that it had been dropped after the crime. And he then held forth at some
length upon the hand of Providence, as manifested in the unconscious
self-betrayal which had frustrated and brought to naught the prisoner's
fiendish designs. On the whole, he spoke well of Providence.
Now Jeff had not once thought of the discarded noseguard since he first
found it in his way; he began to see how tightly the net was drawn round
him. "There was a serpent in the garden," he reflected. A word from Miss
Hoffman would set him free. If she gave that word at once, it would be
unpleasant for her: but if she gave it later, as a last resort, it would
be more than unpleasant. And in that same hurried moment, Jeff knew that
he would not call upon her for that word. All his crowded life, he had
kept the happy knack of falling on his feet: the stars, that fought in
their courses against Sisera, had ever fought for reckless Bransford.
He decided, with lovable folly, to trust to chance, to his wits and to
his friends.
"And now, Your Honor, we come to the unbreakable chain of evidence which
fatally links the prisoner at the bar to this crime. We will prove that
the prisoner was not invited to the masquerade ball given last night by
Mr. Lake. We will prove----"
There was a stir in the courtroom; the prosecutor paused, disconcerted.
Eyes were turned to the double door at the back of the courtroom. In the
entryway at the head of the stairs huddled a group of shrinking girls.
Before them, one foot upon the threshold, stood Ellinor Hoffman. She
shook off a detaining hand and stepped into the room, head erect, proud,
pale. Across the sea of curious faces her eyes met the prisoner's. Of
all the courtroom, Billy and Deputy Phillips alone turned then to watch
Jeff's face. They saw an almost imperceptible shake of his head, a
finger on lip, a reassuring gesture--saw, too, the quick pulsebeat at
his throat.
The color flooded back to Ellinor's face. Men nearest the door were
swift to bring chairs. The prosecutor resumed his interrupted
speech--his voice was deep, hard, vibrant.
"Your Honor, the counts against this man are fairly damning! We will
prove that he was shaved in a barber shop in Arcadia at ten o'clock
last night; that he then rode a roan horse; that the horse was then
sweating profusely; that this horse was afterward found at the house
of--but we will take that up later. We will prove by many witnesses that
among the masqueraders was a man wearing a football suit, wearing a
nosepiece similar--entirely similar--to the one found in the bank, which
now lies before you. We will prove that this football player was not
seen in the ballroom after the hour of eleven P.M. We will prove that
when he was next seen, without the ballroom, it was not until sufficient
time had elapsed for him to have committed this awful crime."
Ellinor half rose from her seat; again Jeff flashed a warning at her.
"We will prove this, Your Honor, by a most unwilling witness--Rosalio
Marquez"--Monte smiled across at Jeff--"a friend of the prisoner, who,
in his behalf, has not scrupled to defy the majesty of the law! We can
prove by this witness, this reluctant witness, that when he returned to
his home, shortly after midnight, he found there the prisoner's horse,
which had not been there when Mr. Marquez left the house some four hours
previously: and that, at some time subsequent to twelve o'clock, the
witness Marquez was wakened by the entrance of the prisoner at the bar,
clad in a football suit, but wearing no nosepiece with it! And we have
the evidence of the sheriff's posse that they found in the home of the
witness, Rosalio Marquez, the football suit--which we offer as Exhibit
B. Nay, more! The prisoner did not deny, and indeed admitted, that this
uniform was his; but--mark this!--the searching party found no nosepiece
there!
"It is true, Your Honor, that the stolen money was not found upon the
prisoner; it is true that the prisoner made no use of the opportunity to
escape offered him by his lawless and disreputable friend, Rosalio
Marquez--a common gambler! Doubtless, Your Honor, his cunning had
devised some diabolical plan upon which he relied to absolve himself
from suspicion; and now, trembling, he has for the first time learned of
the fatal flaw in his concocted defense, which he had so fondly deemed
invincible!"
All eyes, including the orator's, here turned upon the prisoner--to find
him, so far from trembling, quite otherwise engaged. The prisoner's
elbow was upon the rail, his chin in his hand; he regarded Mr. Lake
attentively, with cheerful amusement and a quizzical smile which in some
way subtly carried an expression of mockery and malicious triumph. To
this fixed and disconcerting regard Mr. Lake opposed an iron front, but
the effort required was apparent to all.
There was an uneasy rustling through the court. The prisoner's bearing
was convincing, natural; this was no mere brazen assuming. The banker's
forced composure was not natural! He should have been an angry banker.
Of the two men, Lake was the less at ease. The prisoner's face turned at
last toward the door. Blank unrecognition was in his eyes as they swept
past Ellinor, but he shook his head once more, very slightly.
There was a sense of mystery in the air--a buzz and burr of whispers; a
rustle of moving feet. The audience noticeably relaxed its implacable
attitude toward the accused, eyed him with a different interest, seemed
to feel for the first time that, after all, he was accused merely, and
that his defense had not yet been heard. The prosecutor felt this subtle
change; it lamed his periods.
"It is true, Your Honor, that no eye save God's saw this guilty man do
this deed; but the web of circumstantial evidence is so closely drawn,
so far-reaching, so unanswerable, so damning, that no defense can avail
him except the improbable, the impossible establishment of an alibi so
complete, so convincing, as to satisfy even his bitterest enemy! We will
ask you, Your Honor, when you have seen how fully the evidence bears out
our every contention, to commit the prisoner, without bail, to answer
the charge of robbery and attempted murder!"
Then, by the door, Jeff saw the girl start up. She swept down the
aisle, radiant, brave, unfearing, resolute, all half-gods gone; she
shone at him--proud, glowing, triumphant!
A hush fell upon the thrilled room. Jeff was on his feet, his hand held
out to stay her; his eyes spoke to hers. She stopped as at a command.
Scarcely slower, Billy was at her side. "Wait! Wait!" he whispered. "See
what he has to say. There will be always time for that." Jeff's eyes
held hers; she sank into an offered chair.
Cheated, disappointed, the court took breath again. Their dramatic
moment had been nothing but their own nerves; their own excited
imaginings had attached a pulse-fluttering significance to the flushed
cheeks of a prying girl, seeking a better place to see and hear, to
gratify her morbid curiosity.
Jeff turned to the bench.
"Your Honor, I have a perfectly good line of defense; and I trust no
friend of mine will undertake to change it. I will keep you but a
minute," he said colloquially. "I will not waste your time combating
the ingenious theory which the prosecution has built up, or in
cross-examination of their witnesses, who, I feel sure"--here he bowed
to the cloud of witnesses--"will testify only to the truth. I quite
agree with my learned friend"--another graceful bow--"that the case he
has so ably presented is so strong that it can successfully be rebutted
only by an alibi so clear and so incontestable, as my learned friend has
so aptly phrased it, as to convince if not satisfy ... my bitterest
enemy!" The bow, the subtle, icy intonation, edged the words. The
courtroom thrilled again at the unspoken thought: "_An enemy hath done
this thing!_" If, in the stillness, the prisoner had quoted the words
aloud in fierce denunciation, the effect could not have been different
or more startling. "And that, Your Honor, is precisely what I propose to
do!"
His Honor was puzzled. He was a good judge of men; and the prisoner's
face was not a bad face.
"But," he objected, "you have refused to call any witnesses for the
defense. Your unsupported word will count for nothing. You cannot prove
an alibi alone."
"Can't I?" said Jeff. "Watch me!"
With a single motion he was through the open window. Bending branches of
the nearest cottonwood broke his fall--the other trees hid his flight.
Behind him rose uproar, tumult and hullabaloo, a mass of struggling men
at cross purposes. Gun in hand, the sheriff, stumbling over some one's
foot--Monte's--ran to the window; but the faithful deputy was before
him, blocking the way, firing with loving care--at one particular
tree-trunk. He was a good shot, Jimmy. He afterward showed with pride
where each ball had struck in a scant six-inch space. Vainly the sheriff
tried to force his way through. There was but one stairway, and it was
jammed. Before the foremost pursuer had reached the open Jeff had
borrowed one of the saddled horses hitched at the rack and was away to
the hills.
As Billy struggled through the press, searching for Ellinor, he found
himself at Jimmy's elbow.
"A dead game sport--any turn in the road!" agreed Billy.
The deputy nodded curtly; but his answer was inconsequent:
"Rather in the brunette line--that bit of tangible evidence!"