CHAPTER VIII
THE PROSECUTION AND THE PRISONER
The next day was Sunday, and I passed it in restless impatience over theenforced idleness, occupying myself as far as I could with the newspaperreports of the Coroner's hearing.
I found much to read, but little to please me in them. With fewexceptions they accepted the police version of the case, treatingWinters almost as a convicted criminal and praising unstintedly, in somecases fulsomely, the work of the Inspector's department.
It was only necessary to scan their columns to learn that:
Winters bore a bad reputation, and had long been known to the police;that:
It was one of the most brutal murders in the annals of crime; that:
"The assassin coolly scanned his sleeping prey"--with an illustrationof Winters peering in the window at White asleep on the divan; that:
"The foul deed was perpetrated while the unconscious victim slept"--withillustration; that:
"The prisoner stood mute under the fearful accusation"--withillustration; that:
It would be the first execution by the new sheriff, etc.
The maxim of the law--"that each man shall be deemed innocent tillproved guilty"--was entirely disregarded by these tribunes of thepeople. Like bloodhounds on the trail, they gave tongue to notes thatincited all men to the chase, including those who were to sit as judgeswithout prejudice on the life of the quarry: they assumed Winters guiltytill proved innocent and the possibility of such a contingency they didnot even suggest.
I finally pushed the papers away from me in angry protest and spent theremainder of the day in vain effort to forget the subject.
Early Monday morning I hurried to the office eager to resume my work onthe case.
I found awaiting me there a member of a law firm who gave me the notvery welcome news that White had made me the sole executor of his will,a copy of which he handed me. I made an appointment with him to submitit for probate, and he left me to its perusal.
A few minutes sufficed for this, as it was simple and brief. After theusual clause, providing for payment of his debts, etc., he left all therest of his property unconditionally to his cousin, Henry Winters, andthen followed the unusual explanation that he did so, "as a late andimperfect reparation of a wrong."
In reflecting over this statement, I recalled that it had occurred to meon several occasions when White seemed worried and anxious to make aconfidant of me that he was possibly remorseful over the injustice hefancied had been done Winters by the unequal division of his father'sproperty, but for such striking evidence of the feeling as thisexpression evinced, I was not prepared.
This phase of the matter was of short interest to me, however, when Iconsidered how seriously the words might affect Winters's chances ofacquittal. In an apparent confession by the victim of a wrong done tothe accused was furnished the strong motive of revenge, and if knowledgeof the contents of the will could be brought home to him, the additionalincentive, to the crime, of a much larger gain than a few hundreddollars.
Little had poor Arthur thought when he made that will, honestly trying,I was sure, to repair what he felt to be an injustice, that itsconsequences might prove so fatal to the man he meant to help. I put thepaper away with a sigh: it was no time for unavailing regrets, ifWinters was innocent and was to be saved, action was needed.
I received a summons at this moment from the District Attorney and wentto his office in response. I found closeted with him Inspector Daltonand Detective Miles. A consultation over the case, which had now becomeof chief concern to the office, was in progress.
"Dallas," the District Attorney said to me, "I have just beencongratulating the Inspector upon the excellent work of his departmentin the White murder case. I have read the report of the evidence beforethe Coroner's jury and find it very complete and strong. The Inspectortells me," he continued, "that the case is practically ready for trial,as seems true, and he urges prompt procedure. I have, therefore, orderedthe case sent to the Grand Jury to-morrow, and we must then bring it totrial without unnecessary delay. In cases as serious as this one," heconcluded, "the public as well as the reputation of this office demandquick justice and I mean to make an example of it."
"Winters," I suggested, "should be allowed a reasonable time in which toengage counsel and make preparation for his defence."
"Preparation for his defence," he answered, "can only mean themanufacturing of one, for he is evidently guilty: and while of course hemust have time to secure a lawyer, it is not worth while to afford himtime to work up an alibi or other plausible lie. A fortnight, I think,will be more than enough for all his purposes and I will arrange forsuch date with the court."
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him I was not entirely satisfiedof Winters's guilt and would not be until at least all the missingmoney should be accounted for, but I remembered the deprecatingindulgence with which he had received a similar suggestion about theulster and refrained from commenting on it to him, I did, however, askthe Inspector how he accounted for the three missing bills.
He looked surprised at the question and a little taken aback, I thought,but replied confidently that White had most probably put them in thepocket of his ulster and left them with it at Belle Stanton's house.
"But," I said, "I did not understand from the testimony that they hadbeen found there."
"No," he answered, "the housekeeper denied any knowledge of them whenquestioned on the subject, but that is hardly surprising and I thinkthey will yet be traced to some inmate of that house."
"Well," said the District Attorney, "that seems reasonable enough, and Ihave no doubt will prove the case: and now, Dallas, if you will takehold of the case in conjunction with the police department and prepareit for trial, I will look after its early assignment and be ready toconduct the prosecution. You will of course assist me in it."
I said, "Of course," nothing else occurring to me at the moment, but Ihad grave misgivings regarding the duty.
I then suggested that I see Winters and warn him to be prepared. Thiswas agreed upon, and the Inspector, Miles, and myself departed together,leaving the District Attorney to give his time to some one of a hundredother important matters that demanded his attention.
The Inspector parted from us outside; Miles, at my request, accompanyingme on my visit to Winters at the Tombs.
I wanted Miles with me, because I wished to consult him about somefeatures of the case that I considered important, and which were not yetclear to me, and I meant to discuss them with him as we proceeded. I hadbeen impressed not only with the natural cleverness of this man, butalso with his disposition to be fair, and I felt sure that if he hadobserved the details that I had overlooked, no matter what their bearingmight be on the case, he would give me truthful and unreserved answers.
I had the incident of the ulster in mind and thought if it shouldappear, as I expected, that White had worn it home that night when hereturned after going out as the officer testified that I would then havegone a long way toward creating a doubt of Winters's guilt. So muchindeed seemed to depend upon the answers to my questions that I put themwith some trepidation as to the results.
After consideration I concluded it was best to let the detective seewhat was my purpose, so I opened the conversation by calling hisattention to the fact that in the event that White, by any chance andcontrary to the accepted opinion, had worn the ulster upon his return tothe house, then some one else than he must have taken it to BelleStanton's. I saw at once that Miles had grasped the full purport of thesuggestion, and that it was unnecessary to enlarge upon it, so Icontinued:
"It was raining and if White returned without any outer covering itshould have been evident from the condition of his clothes. How aboutthem?" I was watching the detective while I talked and saw that he wasgiving me close attention and had anticipated my question.
After a moment's thought, he said: "What you have been saying, Mr.Dallas, had occurred to me too and I did observe his clothes as I alwaysdo in
such cases, and they showed no signs of exposure to the weather.In fact, I did not believe he had been out that night without someprotection. Knowing, therefore, that though he had worn the ulster whenhe went out, he had apparently not worn it when he returned, I examinedhis umbrella, which stood near the door. This though unwrapped,suggesting recent use, was dry, but as it probably would have dried inthe meanwhile in any case, I could draw no conclusions from the fact."
I interrupted him here to ask if White had had the umbrella with himwhen the night-officer saw him, and he said the officer reported that hehad been in the act of raising an umbrella as he passed him.
After a pause, he continued: "I did not stop, however, with theexamination of his clothing and umbrella, but looked at the lightpatent-leather shoes he had on. They were new and the soles not evensoiled. They had not, I am sure, been worn on wet streets. Next I lookedfor and found his overshoes nearby the umbrella: they had evidently beenworn in rough weather and had not since been cleaned, but they too weredry and so did not prove anything."
"But," I asked, "what bearing could that have on the question any way?He had certainly been out that night, for the officer saw him."
"Yes, the officer thought he saw him," he replied, "but officers aresometimes mistaken."
I saw his drift and also his oversight, as I thought.
"I am afraid you are off the track a bit, Miles," I said, "when you tryto reason that the officer was mistaken and that White was not out thatnight. We have both for a moment overlooked a factor in the case thatproves the contrary. Admitting," I continued, "that the officer mightpossibly have been mistaken as to the identity of the man he saw leavethe house, he was not mistaken about the ulster for it was taken bysome one to Belle Stanton's, but whoever wore the ulster also wore thecap that matched it for the officer saw that too, and as the cap wasback in the room in the morning, the wearer of it must have returned."
Miles nodded his assent. "Such being the case," I concluded, "the wearermust have been White, because no one else, certainly not the murderer,would have returned to the scene."
"That is true," Miles admitted; "I had forgotten about the cap."
"That being so then," I said, "I also maintain that he wore not only thecap, but the ulster when he returned, and that the ulster must thereforehave been taken to Belle Stanton's by some one else, and at a laterhour."
The detective shook his head. "I hardly think you have satisfactorilyestablished the last proposition," he said, "for he might have returnedwith the cap though without the ulster."
"Well, we will see who is right," I answered, for I was not willing toabandon my theory.
Nothing more was said, and during the remainder of our journey I wasabsorbed in the intricacies of the case, and I think Miles was similarlyengaged, for he seemed in a deep study. I was glad to think it so, for Iwanted to thoroughly engage his interest, as I had determined to makehim an ally. I felt that I could not handle the matter alone, for whileI was willing and able, as I thought, to reason out all the abstractionsinvolved, I must have expert assistance in the detective work to furnishme the material of facts with which to really accomplish anything.
I had no hesitation in using Miles in this way, for while I realizedthat its end was to establish, if possible, the innocence of theaccused, which was contrary to the usual attitude of a prosecutingofficer, I, nevertheless, felt at that time and feel now that it is notthe single duty of the prosecution to convict, but also, and even moreimportantly, its duty to see that each accused have every opportunity toprove his innocence and that there be no conviction if there bereasonable doubt of guilt. Sentiment has no place with the prosecution:charity should be dealt out with a sparing and discriminating hand, butjustice should always be guarded, and above and before all, no innocentman should be convicted.
Upon arriving at the Tombs we were promptly admitted, and saw thesuperintendent, who at my request directed that Winters be brought fromhis cell to the private office for our interview with him.
While we waited, I confess to a feeling of some doubt and apprehensionas to the result of the interview. I was inclined to think the maninnocent, I hoped he was so, and the confirmation or disappointment ofmy hopes depended to a great extent upon his own statement of the case.Could he and would he explain the circumstances of his part in thatnight's tragedy consistently with his innocence, or would he establishhis guilt by some palpable fabrication, or it might even be by aconfession! I felt anything was possible.
We were kept waiting only a short while before one of the guardsconducted Winters into our presence.
He showed the severe strain of his recent dissipation, and forty-eighthours of confinement: but he was sober and in the full possession of hissenses, as his look of intelligent recognition when he saw me proved.His physically exhausted condition I did not altogether regret, for Ifelt it made it next to impossible for him to manufacture any plausiblestory in his defence or to successfully evade direct questions. I shookhands with him and introduced Miles in his proper capacity, and then, ashe had dropped wearily into a chair, suspended my questions, intendingto give him a moment to recover his strength. He anticipated me,however, by asking abruptly if I believed he had killed Arthur.
I made no direct answer, but replied evasively that I had come to seehim to hear what he might have to say on the subject in case he feltdisposed to talk.
He rested his head in his hands for a few minutes, apparentlyreflecting, and then said:
"I did not realize my position or understand the evidence against meuntil I read of it all in the papers." Then raising his head and lookingat me, he continued in a despondent tone:
"I did not kill Arthur and I know nothing about his death, buteverything those witnesses testified to concerning me was true just thesame. I did go to his house that night, and I went there to try and getmoney from him. I had been drinking as usual and had no money, and Iwanted it to drink and gamble with. Arthur had given me money before,when I asked him for it," he continued, "and I knew if I could find him,he would again. So I went to his house and seeing a light in his room,looked in the window to find out whether he was there and alone or not.I saw him asleep on the sofa--or perhaps he was dead then, I do notknow." He stopped a moment to recover his breath, and then went on. "Iwas about to ring the bell when I saw a policeman observing me, and asit was late I thought I had better wait until he was gone and so wentaway. After awhile I returned again and started to enter the house whenI saw something lying on the flagging in the vestibule. I picked it up,and finding it was a fifty-dollar bill, put it in my pocket and hurriedback to the saloon where I had left my friend.
"The rest you know," he continued; "we went to Smith's gambling house,and there I lost the money, and then I went to my room and went tosleep. The next afternoon I read of the murder in the papers and went toArthur's house, meaning to go in and see him, but I was so ill andnervous that I had not the courage to do it, and after staying aroundthe place for awhile, where you saw me, I returned to my room."
He relapsed into silence and I thought he had finished what he had tosay, but he had evidently only been trying to collect his thoughts, forhe continued: "I cannot remember very well what I did from then until Iwas arrested and taken to the station house. I was too ill at the timeto think much about it, and I had no idea that there was any belief thatI had killed Arthur until the Inspector accused me of it, and I hardlyrealized it then." He stopped but neither Miles nor I said anything,wishing him to volunteer all he had to tell, and seeing our expectationhe added: "That is all I know about it."
After he had finished he sat looking at me inquiringly, almostpleadingly, but I was silent, for I did not know what to say to him. Ibelieved his story: it was simple and straightforward and told withouthesitation, but I saw it afforded no satisfactory defence and when toldat the trial under the strain and excitement of the ordeal, andapparently with the guidance and coaching of counsel at his elbow, wouldlose in great part its only strength--the stamp of unpremeditated truth
.
What was I to say to this man who was pleading to me with his eyes forencouragement, for hope? I could give him none. Everything he had saidbut confirmed the testimony against him. His statement that he had foundthe money would seem puerile to a jury already convinced of his guilt,and what else but denial of the crime would they expect from theaccused?
In my dilemma I looked to Miles in the hope of help, but his gaze wasturned to the open window in seeming abstraction.
At last, unable to longer bear the strain of his pathetic silence, Iyielded to the promptings of my feelings and putting my hand on hisshoulder told him that I believed what he said and would help him if Icould. The light of hope came into his face at once, and clasping myhand with both of his, he thanked me.
I had not the heart to discourage him at that moment in his new-foundhope, though I felt there was little foundation for it, and so, to avoidfurther questions, asked him if he could suggest any lawyer whom hewould like to engage to defend him. He thought a moment but shook hishead.
"No," he said sadly, "I have neither friends nor money. How can I get alawyer?"
"You have money," I told him, "though I don't know how much; for ArthurWhite has left you his sole heir."
"Arthur has left me his heir!" he repeated after me in a vague way andwithout any sign of emotion.
"Yes," I said, "and as I am the executor of his will, I will see that agood lawyer is retained for you."
He made no answer, and I added: "If you need anything, let me know and Iwill attend to it for you."
"I shall not need anything," he replied, "but won't you come and see mesometimes?--I am lonely."
I promised to do so, and feeling that nothing more could be done for himthen, closed the melancholy interview by recalling the warden for hisprisoner.
I shook hands with him upon leaving, and as I reached the door was gladto see Miles, as he followed me, do the same. Winters kept his eyesfastened on me alone, however, and they had in them a child's look oftrust and dependence. Truly I had assumed a sad and heavy burden.
As the great doors and gates closed in turn behind us with a thud andthang and we stood in the bright sunshine once more and amid the busythrong of the streets, I drew a long breath of relief, but my heartached for the lonely man behind those prison walls.
Neither Miles nor myself had much to say for awhile as we took our wayback toward our own section, but finally I broke the silence by askinghim how he was impressed with Winters's statement. He replied:
"It won't acquit him unsupported, but I think he told the truth."
"What are we to do about his case then," I asked. "Certainly you do notintend to continue your search for evidence against him?"
"No," he answered, "it is not necessary that I should do that. I will dowhat I can to get more information about the case generally, which, ifhe is innocent, can only help him."
"Then," I said, "I may depend upon your help in my work." He promisedit, and I asked him to find out for me first, if possible, what hadbecome of the missing bills.
He smiled a little before he answered. "I am afraid I can find them alltoo easily for your purposes"; and then added, "come with me now if youhave the time and I will show you how we sometimes accomplish our endsby playing a bluff game."
"Where are you going," I asked. He replied, "To Belle Stanton's for themissing bills," and hailing an uptown car, boarded it, I getting onafter him.
Indeed, I thought, if this man's expectations prove true and he tracesthe money to that house, our first service will have proved of a kindWinters could better have dispensed with. Perhaps we would beunsuccessful, though, and then on the other hand we would haveaccomplished something worth while.
When we reached our destination, Miles rang the bell and the door wasopened by the landlady herself. She evidently recognized us and lookednone too agreeably surprised, but asked us into the big bare parlor,quite politely.
I took a seat, but the detective, declining her invitation, turned toher very quickly, and said:
"Mrs. Bunce, we find there were three fifty-dollar bills in the pocketof Mr. White's ulster when it was left here the night of his death andwe need them, so I came around to ask you to get them for us."
"Do you mean to say," she answered in an indignant tone, "that you thinkI took them?"
"No," he said, "I know of course that you did not, but they were taken,or possibly lost, out of the pocket somewhere in this house, and I wantto find them."
"They were neither lost nor taken in this house," she answered shortly,and my hopes rose as I began to feel more confident that Miles wasmistaken. The detective, however, showed no signs of discouragement, butcontinued in the same urbane tone:
"You think they were not, madam, I am sure; but we know they were. Youhave a maid-servant here," he went on; "please send for her."
"What for?" Mrs. Bunce asked with some symptoms of alarm, I thought. "Doyou wish to question her?"
"No," Miles answered. "She took the bills and I must arrest her."
Mrs. Bunce hesitated for awhile and seemed uncertain of her course, butat last said:
"I don't want anybody arrested in my house--it will hurt its reputation,you know--and if you will wait I will see her about it myself."
"Very well, we will wait, but you must tell her to give up the bills, asotherwise we must arrest her. This is a very serious matter. You can sayto her," he continued, "that if we get the bills there will be no moretrouble about it."
The woman left us and was gone for about five minutes, during whichMiles said to me that she would bring back the money with her. I was notso sure of it and said nothing, but when she returned she handed himthree fifty-dollar bills, saying:
"You were right, she did have the money, the hussy; and here it is."
"Thank you," said Miles; "were they found in the pocket of the ulster,do you know?"
"Yes, the outside pocket," she answered.
Miles looked at her severely.
"Mrs. Bunce," he said, "if I were you I would admit I found the billsmyself, otherwise it may be awkward for you when we have to put you andyour servant on the stand to prove where they were found. This gentlemanand myself will not say anything about this conversation and there willbe no trouble if you simply tell the truth about it."
The woman broke down finally and began whining something about a poorwoman not being allowed to keep what she found in her own house and whatbelonged to her by right, but Miles did not wait to listen but left thehouse, I following him.
Once alone with him again I could not restrain the expression of mydisappointment.
"That was a very clever piece of work, indeed," I said, "butunfortunately does the case of Winters harm instead of good."
"How?" he asked.
"Why, the missing bills having now been accounted for," I answered,"there is nothing to show that any one else was on the scene that nightor to furnish a motive for the crime, and so there remains no one butWinters to whom suspicion can attach."
"You don't look at it properly," he answered; "the most important thingincidental to the discovery of the money is the fact that its effectwill be to substantiate Winters's statement."
I looked at him inquiringly, and seeing I did not comprehend, heexplained.
"White evidently took all the money with him, carelessly stuffed in theoutside pocket of his ulster, when he went out that night and he mighteasily have dropped one of the bills in the vestibule: such being thecase, Winters's statement that he found it there becomes not onlyreasonable, but probable."
I saw the force of this at once, and was rejoiced at it: but at the sametime I was more perplexed than ever by the situation it disclosed.
"If White," I asked, expressing my doubts to Miles, "took all the moneyout with him that night, as you say, what motive remains to explain themurder?"
"We have got to find a new motive," he answered, "and when we do findit, I am much mistaken if it does not disclose a deeper planned schemeand a cleverer hand than we
have anticipated."
My interest was keenly aroused and I was ready at once to enter into thenew aspect of the case, but Miles would not have it so.
"Wait till to-morrow, Mr. Dallas," he said; "you are tired, and hadbetter seek some amusement this evening," and bidding me good-bye, heleft me.
I recognized the virtue of his advice and acted on it, for after allenough had been done for one day.
A Master Hand: The Story of a Crime Page 8