CHAPTER XII
AN EPISODE AND A DINNER
The jury did not agree. They stood nine for conviction and three foracquittal when the court met in the morning, and there being no prospectof an agreement, they were discharged.
It was looked upon as a victory for the defence, but only because aconviction had been generally expected. As it was the case had to betried over again.
Upon leaving the court-room, Littell accompanied me to my office, for hewas anxious to secure some little delay before the next trial and wishedto see the District Attorney regarding it. He said he needed time torecuperate and his appearance bore this out, for I had never seen himlook so fagged or dejected.
We found the District Attorney in his office in conversation with hisassociate and the Inspector. He greeted Littell very cordially andcongratulated him upon his conduct of his case; but Littell, after onlya word of acknowledgment, hastened on to the subject of his visit. Heasked for at least a month's interval before the next trial, and urgedin support thereof his need of rest and change.
The request was readily acceded to, in spite of some objection from theInspector, who was evidently chagrined over the failure of the State'scase.
"I suppose, Littell," the District Attorney said quizzically, as we wereleaving, "you also want time to hunt up some evidence to support thatvery interesting personal account of the murder you gave to the jury!"but Littell replied with some abruptness, I thought, that the onlydefect in his theory of the case was that it lacked the evidence of aneye-witness to prove it, which was also lacking upon the part of theState.
"It is all a matter of deduction from circumstances," he added, "and Ithink mine were fully as reasonable and likely as yours."
"Yes," replied the District Attorney, "three of the twelve jurorsapparently agreed with you," which created a laugh, but Littellevidently was not in the humor for badinage and made no rejoinder, andwe withdrew to my private office.
There we found Miles in waiting. We told him of the date fixed for thenext trial, and Littell added that it might afford him opportunity tosecure some additional evidence.
"Of what kind?" the detective asked.
"Any kind," he replied, "that will throw doubt upon the State's case."
"Why not hunt for the real criminal?" Miles inquired.
"Do you think you can find him?" Littell asked.
"I can try," was the reply.
"Well," Littell said, "I am going away and will not return for a time,so you and Dallas can have a free hand in the meantime to follow yourown course, but for myself I don't think you will accomplish much onthat line."
The detective made no answer, and I inquired of Littell when he thoughtof going and learning it would probably be the next day, suggested hedine with me at the club that evening, and added, as the idea occurredto me: "I will ask Davis and Van Bult too. We would all like to seesomething of you before you go."
He accepted the invitation, and as he prepared to leave us lookedtowards Miles, but the latter had his back to us, and was absentlyturning over the pages of a book on the table.
After Littell was gone, I waited for Miles to make known the businessthat had brought him, but he remained absorbed in a brown study.
At length, to recall his attention, I inquired if he had any definiteplans for the course he meant to pursue, adding that I agreed with himin his determination to try and find the real criminal, and that I didnot believe it could be so difficult as Littell seemed to judge.
He shook his head. "It will be difficult, I have no doubt," he said,"but still I think perhaps I can do it."
"Tell me your plans," I urged, my interest aroused.
He hesitated and seemed embarrassed. "I think, if you don't mind, Iwould rather you would leave it all to me just now," he said at length.
I was too surprised to make any immediate reply. This man, whomheretofore I had found subservient to my every suggestion, was nowprepared apparently to assume the leadership and relegate me to thebackground. "But," I said, when I had recovered from my astonishment,"do you expect me to abandon the case altogether?"
"Not at all," he hastened to explain; "I only wish you to leave the workof the next few days to me. It is peculiarly in my line, and besides Ido not think you would find it agreeable. Leave it to me," he urged,"and I will report all results to you as soon as possible, and afterthat I will be guided entirely by you in the matter."
He was evidently in earnest and so serious over it that I offered nofurther objection, though I was somewhat humiliated at what I deemed hislack of confidence in me. When he had left me, I puzzled over hisstrange conduct, but as I could make nothing of it wisely determined toresign myself to the inevitable and make the most of the respite thisforced inaction would grant me.
After I had despatched notes to Van Bult and Davis, asking them todinner, and had attended to some routine duties, I made the first use ofmy freedom by leaving my office and devoting the afternoon to a longhorse-back ride. It was a glorious winter's day, cold and sparkling, andfull of sunshine, and I drew in deep lungs full of the bracing air as Idirected my way leisurely towards the Park.
Once clear of the stones, I gave the horse his head and with an eagerbound he had stretched out into a gallop. As we went speeding alongthrough the country for mile after mile, it seemed to me that I hadnever felt anything so fine as this gallop. After my long siege of worryand work it was like a tonic to my mind and body and with every strideof the horse I seemed to get stronger and brighter.
I could feel the blood coursing through my veins, while my mentalfaculties were stirred into renewed vigor, and I began to realize intowhat a rut I had gotten and how morbid had become my state of mind, andI was content to accept the dictum of Miles and to put the case and allits gruesome details away from me.
When at length, wearied with the rapid pace and my horse giving signs oflaboring, I pulled him down to a walk and settled with a feeling oftired comfort in the saddle, the buoyancy of youth had reasserted itselfin me and I felt at peace with the world.
I had turned about and was well on my way toward home again, given overto pleasant thoughts about lighter things, when I overtook and passed awoman riding by herself. I scarcely noticed her and would have continuedon without giving her a second thought if I had not heard my name calledafter me. I stopped and looked back and, to my surprise, recognizedBelle Stanton.
She was approaching me slowly, patting the neck of her horse, that was alittle restive under her, and her manner betokened no consciousness ofanything unusual in her salute. For a moment I was doubtful of theaccuracy of my hearing, for I scarcely knew her, if it could be said Iknew her at all, the chance meeting at the trial furnishing the onlyexcuse for acquaintanceship; but my doubts were dispelled by herfriendly little nod as she came up with me.
Evidently she considered the acquaintance legitimate enough forinformality, even if I did entertain some doubts on the subject. Shelooked well in her riding habit and sat her horse gracefully, and as sheswayed in her saddle, looked at me with a merry challenge in her eyes.
"You had rather ride with me than ride alone, had you not?" she askeddemurely, and I obediently wheeled my horse beside hers, as I assuredher the encounter was welcome; and while we rode on together, she toldme she had wanted to know me for a long time, and that she felt we wereold friends, though this had been our first real meeting, and many othersuch things that a man likes to hear a pretty woman say even though heknows she is fooling him.
"Don't you think," she said, "that people sometimes feel they are goingto like each other before they have ever met?" and she laid her handgently on my arm and looked up for my answer.
I have since tried to defend myself for the weakness of that moment inwhich I was near being recreant to the memory of a friend, but I know inmy heart that there was no excuse for me except it be the witchery ofthe woman and the charm of the occasion. She was pretty--awfullypretty--and she knew all too well how to attract men, and then, too, thetime and place we
re in her favor.
The winter's day was in its last twilight, the moon was already fillingthe wayside with light that made shadows on the snow, and through thelong avenue of trees that stretched before us no one was in sight, wetwo were alone. As I felt the caressing touch and looked into the fairface lifted to mine, I forgot all else in the intoxication of themoment, and responding impulsively leaned down to meet her glance andwould have been guilty of what foolishness I know not, had her woman'smood not changed in time to save me.
With a laugh she rapped me over the fingers with her whip and, spurringher horse, was gone from my reach in a moment. No man altogether likesthe sensation of having been played with, and as I galloped after her Imade up my mind not to let myself be again distracted by her wiles, butwhen I should have overtaken her to make the most of my opportunity tolearn anything more she might know about the death of White.
When she had tired of the fun of leading me a long and not verydignified chase, she pulled up and waited for me to rejoin her,remarking casually as I did so that I seemed to have a "good steadyhorse."
"Yes," I replied, rather sharply I fear, for I was out of breath andhumor, "and a fast one when I think it worth while to call on him." Shelooked him over carelessly as she replied: "I thought he was doing hisbest just now; he seems a little blown, does he not?"
I deigned no reply to this and there were prospects of our ride beingfinished in silence, for if I intended to sulk she evidently meant tolet me. Such a course, however, was not calculated to accomplish mypurpose and as we were nearing the city again, I determined tointroduce the subject I had in mind.
"It is strange," I said, "is it not, that you and I should both beconnected so closely with the circumstances of Arthur White's death?"
She looked up surprised and evidently none too well pleased with theunexpected change in my tone.
"I don't know why you should say that," she answered, "I had nothing todo with Mr. White's death."
"No, nor had I directly," I replied; "but I was at his house the nightof his death and he was at yours."
"You may have been at his house," she answered, "but I do not know thathe was at mine."
"But he left his ulster there," I insisted.
"His ulster was left there," she said, changing my phraseology; then shestopped and hesitated; "but let us talk of something else," sheconcluded, "for the subject makes me sad," and I discerned a littletremor in her voice that I thought was genuine.
Sometimes a woman like Belle Stanton may grieve, though she must notshow it, and I was sorry for her, but I meant to persevere in mypurpose, nevertheless.
"I do not wish to make you feel badly," I tried to say gently, "but Iwant to learn all I can about Arthur's death and if you know any morethan you have yet disclosed, I wish you would tell it to me."
She looked away, as if determining something before answering, and thenasked what reason I had for thinking she knew anything more than she hadtold at the trial. For reply, I quoted to her Van Bult's words:
"You will find it is through Belle Stanton that you must trace thecriminal."
"Who said that?" she asked quickly. I told her.
"Oh! it was Van Bult, was it? Well, you may find he was mistaken," andher tone betokened indifference.
"Do you then know nothing at all that can help us in the case?" Iinquired. She stopped her horse, for we had reached the Fifty-ninthStreet entrance, and wheeling him so that she faced me, said:
"I know very little more than I have told, probably nothing of anyimportance, but if you will come and see me sometime, I will help you,if I can"; but I was impatient and urged her to tell me at once what sheknew.
"No," she replied, "you must leave me here and if you wish to learn moreyou will have to come and see me," and turning her horse she waved herhand to me and rode away.
I sat looking after her just a moment debating over what she had saidand then hastened home, for it was approaching my dinner hour, but thefirst thing I did on entering the club was to write a line to Miles.
"Stanton knows more than she has told," I said. "Find out what it is."And then I made my preparations for dinner.
At eight o'clock I was in the reception-room awaiting the arrival of myguests, and as I surveyed myself in the long mirror, I felt a thrill ofpleasure at finding myself again a part of the social world.
After all there are two sides to life--the serious and the gay--and wemust mingle them to get the most out of it. For a long time now I hadknown the serious side, but the release from the service on the case andthe ride and encounter of the afternoon had awakened in me a longing forthe brighter side that I had no disposition to deny.
When Davis entered with his cheery way and cordial greeting I was morethan usually glad to see him and we fell as readily into our accustomedeasy intercourse as though it had never been interrupted by a tragedy. Afew minutes later Littell and Van Bult appeared and our party wascomplete.
I advanced to Littell as he appeared, eager to welcome him, but he hadstopped on the threshold and while rolling a cigarette between his deftfingers was inquiring casually of Davis concerning the latest bit ofsocial scandal as if he had no more serious thought in the world. A fewhours had sufficed to remove every sign of care and fatigue that I hadobserved in the morning.
Van Bult in the meanwhile had sauntered over to the fireside, and,leaning on the mantle, was looking from one to the other of us withthat rare smile that helped to make him so attractive.
I was proud of my friends as I stood in their midst and reflected thatit would be hard to find three better dressed, better appearing men thanthose. They were gentlemen, all of them, not by assertion or imitation,but because it was inherent in them. And the atmosphere they created wasreposeful and agreeable.
When dinner was announced, we adjourned to the private dining-room I hadreserved and were received by my old servitor, Brown, standingceremoniously at the door, and I think he was as pleased as any one overthe reunion. His bow to each of us as he passed the frosted martinis wasalmost a salaam, and no dish was served till it had passed under hiscritical eye, and no bottle uncorked till he had tried its temperaturewith solicitous touch.
We were a pleasant party of old friends together as we sat down thatnight, with mutual interests and associations to talk over, and theconversation drifted from one topic to another, in easy sequence.
The boyish gayety of Davis was infectious, and drew out the brightestside of Van Bult's nature, though in the sober tone habitual to him,while Littell's side fire of cynical, humorous comment gave a keeneredge and point to all that was said.
After the coffee and the cigars had been brought and Brown had retired,our talk took a more serious turn and eventually passed to the subjectof the trial, which by tacit understanding had been avoided before. Iwould very willingly have let things continue as they had been and haveignored the subject altogether, but it was not to be. It was evidentlyon all minds and would not be avoided. Some one referred to it andimmediately all else lost interest. The witnesses and their evidence;the bearing of the prisoner; the division of the jury, and the argumentsof counsel, were each discussed in turn; till finally Davis, in hisirreverent way, inquired of Littell if he flattered himself the jury hadbelieved the fairy tale he had told them.
"So you think it was a fairy tale I told the jury, do you, Ned?" Littellsaid. "Well, it may have been, but I have known truth as strange."
"Do you mean to say," Van Bult inquired, "that you believe the statementyou made to the jury to be the true explanation of the murder?"
"I do," Littell answered.
"But if that were so, it might put the crime upon some man we know," VanBult continued, "possibly even a friend and you cannot think that?"
"Why not?" Littell asked; "it would not be the first time a man ofintelligence and social prominence had done such a thing. You can nevertell what a man is capable of till he has been tried. Very few men, Iadmit you," he went on, "commit great crimes, but that is not alwaysbecause they ar
e too good for it; it is sometimes only because the fataloccasion does not arise for them and sometimes because the menthemselves are not equal to the occasion. The man who has once committeda murder," he continued, reflectively, while we all listened intently,"is no worse in nature, necessarily, after than before the deed, and nomore dangerous to society, that is if he is a man of intelligence;because he has done it once is no reason that he will do it again, anymore than the fact that he has never done it is an assurance that henever will. There are worse offences than murder, too; a man may killanother man, and yet not cheat at cards or talk about a woman." Hepaused, but no one said anything and he went on in the samedispassionate tone: "There are men of wealth and position in this city,men respected and sought after, not a few, who would kill if theoccasion were great enough; it is only a matter of measure with them;and it is among such men you must look for Arthur White's murderer."
When he concluded there was an expression of horror upon Davis's faceand I was repelled even while fascinated by this cold-blooded analysisof my fellow-men's nature and motives, but I recognized there was adegree of truth in it, nevertheless.
It was Van Bult who continued the conversation.
"I do not agree with you," he said, "and I do not believe you mean whatyou say; I know the pessimistic view you affect to take of humannature, and I know, too, the real charity you feel for it in yourheart." Van Bult spoke warmly, but Littell received the tribute with ashrug as he held his glass up to the light and judged critically itscolor.
"Have your way," he said, "but if the time ever comes when my words areverified, remember I said them."
"Perhaps we may not have to wait very long for the truth about thiscase," I now said, "for Miles thinks he has discovered a new clue and ishard at work upon it and I happened upon something this afternoon thatmay help him."
"What was that?" Davis inquired, but I did not think it worth while togo into the details of my meeting with Belle Stanton and did not answer.
"The case is too much for such as Miles to solve, I think," Littellsaid, and then looking at me added, "You might do better, Dick, but I amnot sure the job would repay you."
"I would willingly undertake it, nevertheless," I answered, "if I onlyknew where to begin."
"If there is any truth in Littell's words, it might lead you to veryunpleasant consequences," Van Bult here suggested.
I was reflecting over his words, when Littell, reading my thoughts,added:
"If you do continue your investigation of this case, and it does lead tosome man you know, what will you do?"
"I can do but one thing," I answered, "give that man to justice."
"And if he should be friend, what then?"
Such a contingency had never occurred to me before, but in the trend ofthe conversation it seemed a possibility, and I felt its awfulresponsibility.
"Give it up, Dick," advised Davis; "Littell is only dissecting youmorally, and the idea is too absurd to talk about, much less to acceptseriously"; but I saw the others were waiting for my decision, and Iwould not evade it.
"I would still do the same," I answered.
"Do you think it would be really worth while or your duty, to do such athing?" Littell asked. "Winters will probably be acquitted; White ispast helping, and what could be gained by offering up a friend as asacrifice?"
"Nothing," I answered, "but the demands of the law."
He leaned over and put his hand on my shoulder.
"Dick," he said, "you are a strange fellow with more than your share ofconscientiousness, but even with you there must be a point where dutyceases and human nature asserts itself. Would you, if it were one of usthree, your friends, upon whom you fixed this crime, give him over tothe gallows?"
"I refuse to answer," I said.
"But you would do it!" Van Bult asserted, and I did not dispute him.
"I am going home," Davis broke in. "I have had enough of this; youfellows can go on hanging one another all night, if you choose, but Iwon't have a hand in it," and he pushed his chair back from the table.
The laugh that followed relieved the tension, and we prepared to breakup.
"Let us have a last drink together before we go out," Littell said, andfollowing his example, we all rose and filled our glasses.
"The toast?" Van Bult asked.
"Failure to Dallas," said Littell, and I could not refuse to join them.
To change the tenor of our thoughts, I asked Littell if he haddefinitely decided about his trip.
"Yes," he replied, "I shall go to Florida, to-morrow, but will be backin time to receive any revelations you may have to make."
"Better take him with you," said Davis. "He is hardly good company, butit will keep him out of harm."
"Why not go?" Van Bult urged. "It will do you good--you need rest evenmore than Littell."
"No," I said, "I will stay here."
By this time we had reached the front door and no one seemed disposed tolinger. Though our little dinner had begun auspiciously and full ofpromise of a pleasant evening, its ending had been rather melancholy andI knew they all felt so and, try as they would, could not throw theweight off. Somehow or other, this death of White seemed fated to bringus all constant trouble.
Davis and Van Bult nodded me a farewell as they went away, but Littellheld out his hand and, as I took it, said earnestly, almostaffectionately:
"Your fidelity to your purpose may prove to your sorrow, Dick, but Irespect you for it, and I wish some of us could be more like you."
"It is you that I would be like," I answered him.
"Good-night," he said, and joined the others as they crossed the square.
As I stood for a moment, looking after their retreating forms, I sawagain the detective I had seen shadowing Winters the day I had met himby White's house.
A Master Hand: The Story of a Crime Page 12