Testimony of Two Men

by Taylor Caldwell

  "Well," said Howard, "the sheriff should be in his office. I believe you have a telephone in the hall below, Senator. May we accompany you, just to listen to your remarks, and have the assurance that no move will be made against Jon?"

  "But there is something else," said Louis, "and the most important. Howard and I have discussed this thoroughly. Everyone knows that you were a close friend of Adrian Ferrier's and that you have a high regard for Marjorie, and I believe there was a rumor that you steadfastly declared that Jon was not guilty of Mavis' death. How admirable it will seem to the good people of Hambledon—and the national newspapers—when you announce that you personally undertook an investigation of the case and that you are happy to announce that, indeed, Jon was not guilty!"

  "No," said the Senator with firmness.

  Louis sighed. "Then, we will, in spite of everything, have to give a copy of Martin Eaton's last affidavit, which implicates you and Brinkerman, to the press."

  "God damn you," said the Senator, in a very soft voice. "Isn't it enough that I may—may, I remark—ask the sheriff what you have suggested I ask him?"

  "No, it is not nearly enough," said Howard. "Don't force our hands into making everything public. At the very least," he continued with cunning, "you will be thwarting Jon's explosive demands that it all be made public, for you know he can be wild, and he has suffered a great deal. By saying what we have suggested you say to the press, you will be frustrating poor Jon, and it is really very unkind of us to think of it at all."

  "And God damn him, too," said the Senator, and stood up. He surveyed them. "I've met scoundrels before in Philadelphia and Washington, but you two bumpkins are the most conscienceless."

  Now Louis laughed as well as Howard. The Senator was not ashamed or embarrassed. After a few moments he laughed himself, briefly and grimly, and spread out his hands. "Let us go downstairs to the telephone." He added, "I think I will return to Washington almost immediately."

  "A very wise thought," said Howard, as they went down the shining marble stairs together. "One never knows what Jon Ferrier will do."

  "I suggest," said Louis Hedler, "that you warn Brinkerman to give up his extracurricular activities. As for myself, I will ask him to resign from the staff and will hint to him as much as possible of what I know. One never knows with a man like Brinkerman, but that is the very least I can do." He sighed. "It is a very bad predicament in which I find myself. Ferrier would not be so discreet as I, but then he is much younger and he has not had much experience with mankind."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  On Monday, Louis Hedler called Jonathan Ferrier at his house. He said with extreme smoothness, "Jon, there has been a delay. The members of the State Medical Board will not arrive for a week or more."

  "Why not?"

  "Jon, they did not tell me." Louis paused. "I hope you are giving this matter a great deal of careful and judicious thought."

  "Louis," said Jonathan, "you are moderate to excess. I am giving it thought, all right"

  "That is what I am afraid of," said the older doctor. "You have kept your own counsel, haven't you?"

  "I have. If those men do not arrive soon, I will go myself to Philadelphia and consult with them."

  "Bringing the mountain to Mohammed. I wouldn't advise that, Jonathan."

  "I heard a rumor at Phil Harrington's wedding yesterday that Brinkerman has 'suddenly been called out of town and may settle elsewhere.' Now, Louis, you don't know anything about that, do you?"

  "I do. But this is no conversation to be having on the telephone, Jon. You will know everything in good time."

  "Somehow," said Jonathan, "I have the strangest feeling that little mice, or perhaps rats, are running around in the dark, and I am not supposed to hear them."

  "I do like your analogies, dear boy, but—"

  "I also heard that Campion has been 'recalled' to Washington, and that's odd, for President McKinley, I hear, is going to Buffalo to speak at the Pan-American Exposition. I verified Campion's absence by one single telephone call to his house. What do you know about that, Louis?"

  "I am not exactly Campion's best friend, Jon. Why don't you go somewhere for a few days and rest or something?"

  "And why don't you go to hell, Louis?" Jonathan slammed the receiver into its hook. Louis Hedler shook his head. Jonathan's voice had been reasonably normal and controlled, but that did not deceive Louis. He dreaded the day and the hour when he must sit down with this immoderate man and tell him that his plans for vengeance must be put aside, and mainly for his own sake. Louis called Howard Best at his house and told him discreetly of his conversation with Jon, without mentioning his name.

  "It's a fine thing that our friend up on the hill had the discretion to leave," said Howard. "I'm afraid our other friend wanted to visit him in the name of mayhem, or worse. When does the Big Smile release the story to the newspapers?"

  "Wednesday."

  "I wonder what our little playmate is going to think of that?"

  "The imagination boggles," said Louis. "I have a feeling that I must visit my sister-in-law in Scranton before the release."

  "And Beth has relatives in Wilkes-Barre. They have been

  begging us to visit them. See you when we both get back to Hambledon, Louis."

  "Yes. By the way, the members of the Medical Board must have heard a little something soothing, probably from the Big Smile, for they were very understanding and agreeable when I suggested that it may not be necessary at all for them to come here. They were not in the least surprised when I sent them my telegram, apparently, for their own was most amiable in reply and even a little indifferent."

  "Ah, well, it is for the best. Good-bye, Louis, have a happy holiday."

  Jonathan was not drinking. He knew he must have a clear mind if he were to carry out his plans. In the meantime he was finishing his packing. He had prospective customers for two of his farms. He would not let himself think of anything too acutely, for he was afraid that he would lose all his reason. He occupied himself with external things. He visited the farm on which Thelma Harper and her children were living, and to his surprise he let himself be persuaded to remain two days. He rode over the early autumn acres, had long discussions with his tenants, and played with Thelma's children and was more surprised to discover that he could sleep without a drink or a sedative. He had heard from Thelma of Senator Campion's attempt to persuade her husband to swear to a false affidavit against Jonathan, and to the young widow's astonishment Jonathan only smiled as if it were a great joke. She knew Jonathan well. He seemed calm enough, and even joked with her a few times, but she saw his eyes and was disturbed. She cooked him excellent meals, and though he sat at the table with her and her children, and teased them all, he ate almost nothing. At night she could hear him walking for a considerable time before he went to bed.

  All that Jonathan had learned over a period of three months—the tentative tolerance, the increasing charity, the attempts at understanding, the new pity and flexibility—had left him entirely. He was one abscess of cold but fulminating hatred. Upon his return to Hambledon he did not visit his offices, did not go to the hospitals. "I just want to be alone," he said to Robert on the telephone. "I have a number of things to do and arrangements to make." He did not mention some inquiries he had begun.

  So, thought Robert, he is really leaving. I just hope he doesn't have a gun in the house. I didn't like the sound of his voice.

  Jonathan rode his horse down the River Road every day, not once looking at the island in the water. He knew he dared not do that. He would find little pine groves, and lie down in the dusty autumn grass and look blindly at the sky, and try to think of nothing at all. There was a time for everything, he would think. This is not the time. Yet.

  The heat and dryness over the land continued and seemed to become worse. Each day there were hopes and prayers for rain, for autumn coolness, for surcease. The river fell lower and lower, and in the country the wells sank and the little ponds and stream
s dried up. At night the profitless lightning and wind began, but there was no thunder, no showers, no storms, though occasionally there was a growling in the mountains.

  Each morning, back in Hambledon, Jonathan continued his rigid and self-imposed discipline. He would get up, eat a small breakfast if any, read his newspaper, then go out for hard riding, a sleep perhaps in the grass, and then a return to his house where he wrote business letters or read them, and communicated with his banks and his brokers. This took most of his day. He would eat his lonely dinner, sometimes glancing at his mother's empty place. After dinner he would read in his father's study, and sometimes he would come to himself with a start, realizing that time had passed, a long time, and he had not turned a page. Then he would go to bed.

  He was like a condemned man counting out his last days. His thoughts were purely abstract and on the surface. He would not let himself think of Jenny Heger. Afterward—he would go abroad, perhaps for a year or more. He had his letters of credit. Upon his return, he would go—where? He did not as yet know. That year lay before him. When he came back, it would be time to think of how he must spend the rest of his life, and it was only then that he felt a black premonition of agony to be endured in the future. His life was wasted, gone. A man without hope, without plans, without a real destination, was truly dead, he would say to himself.

  Robert Morgan, miserable and apprehensive, came down to breakfast one morning and his mother said with satisfaction, "We have an invitation to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Kitchener, Robert."

  "Good." He looked about the dark hot dining room, where the windows were shut as usual against even the slightest breeze or touch of sun. Not that he cared for the sun lately, for he had never experienced such prolonged heat and dryness for so long a time, and there seemed no end to it. Each day the sky became more yellow, as if it were jaundiced, and once or twice a day thick black clouds would gather and darken the earth, but it never rained, and soon the sun would be out again, as fierce as ever. Robert said, "What did you say, Mother?"

  Jane Morgan's grim gray face was simpering. "I do wish you'd listen, Robert. I merely remarked that Maude Kitchener seems much taken with you."

  Robert thought of Jenny Heger and he felt the usual sick spasm of love and longing and hopelessness. He had not seen her lately. He felt that she would not welcome him on the island at this time, or perhaps never again.

  "You haven't touched your toast, Robert," said Jane. "I don't know what is wrong with you lately. You seem so—so concerned with something. I trust everything is going well for you in this little town?"

  "It isn't so little, Mother. Yes, everything is going well for me. I have now taken over all of Jon's practice." He looked at his cup of cooling coffee but did not lift it. "I wish he were not going away."

  "He is compelled to," said Jane Morgan with acid pleasure. Robert looked up quickly.

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Robert, it is town talk, not that I gossip or listen to gossip. But I do know Mrs. Beatrice Offerton quite well now. A very pleasant and comely lady, and so democratic, but yet so appreciative of our better station in Philadelphia. She knows Philadelphia, and we discovered that we have mutual friends. It may surprise you, Robert, that Mrs. Offerton has a very low opinion of that detestable man."

  Robert felt that at last he was going to hear something interesting if he did not press his mother. So he waited. Jane bridled and smirked. "Indeed," she said. "Remember, Robert, that I never liked him, never trusted him, and never believed that he was not guilty of that crime. Mrs. Offerton quite agrees with me. She told me, only a week or so ago, or rather, I should say, hinted, that new evidence has arisen proving that he did, indeed, murder his wife."

  Robert smiled, and his mother thought that his smile was extremely odd.

  "You don't agree, Robert?"

  "Of course not. Doesn't she ever go to Washington with her brother?"

  "No."

  "He is there now." Robert picked up the newspaper by his plate, folded and neat and waiting. Jane had always so placed her father's morning newspaper, and she would never have dreamed, as she did not now, of reading it before "the gentle-man of the house" had first glanced through it. Jane was annoyed that Robert treated her news so lightly and then had dismissed it. He was not looking well lately. He had lost weight He seemed preoccupied. She often heard him calling the Ferrier number, but apparently "that man" never answered his calls, and Robert would leave a message with the maid, hopelessly. Had Robert and he had a quarrel? She hoped so. She wanted no stain from "that man's" association with her son to remain on him. She studied Robert as he listlessly unfolded the newspaper, and she thought his color was not so bright as it should be, and that there was a new melancholy on his face. Ah, well, responsibility came hard to the young. He would soon adjust to it. And there was that lovely girl, Maude Kitchener, who was definitely setting her cap for him. Jane started. Robert had suddenly uttered a loud and gleeful exclamation, and he was grinning joyously at the newspaper.

  "Dear me, you quite startled me!" said Jane. But Robert was laughing uproariously, and he was handing her the newspaper over the plates, and his blue eyes were dancing.

  "Do read, Mother!" he said. "You will notice that the front-page item of the Hambledon Daily News, in a very prominent place, has a Washington dateline. As of yesterday."

  Jane opened her glass case, put on her glasses, looked at her son suspiciously, then looked at the item he had pointed out to her. It said, SENATOR DECLARES DR. JONATHAN FERRIER OF HAMBLEDON, PENNSYLVANIA, CLEARED OF ALL SUSPICION OF HIS WIFE'S MURDER LAST NOVEMBER!

  "Oh!" said Jane incredulously. She looked at the masthead of the paper, as if suspecting a deception. She peered at the columns below the heading. Her hps, dried and stiff, pursed as if she were about to cry.

  "Senator Kenton Campion, senior Senator from the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, today called a conference of reporters in Washington to dear the name of one of his fellow townsman, Dr. Jonathan Ferrier, who was arrested last December for the alleged death of his wife, Mavis Eaton Ferrier, after a criminal operation. The case will be recalled as having attracted nationwide interest and publicity, due to the prominent position of Dr. Ferrier and his wife and the extraordinary brutality of the crime.

  "Dr. Ferrier's lawyer in Hambledon, Mr. Howard Best, had moved for a change of venue because of the alleged ill-feeling and indignation against Dr. Ferrier in that town. Mr. Best said that he did not believe that Dr. Ferrier would have a fair trial under the circumstances. The trial was moved to Philadelphia, and Dr. Ferrier was subsequently acquitted. Messrs. Cranbury and Oldsman, of the law firm of Cranbury, Smythe, Jordan and Oldsman, were Dr. Ferrier's attorneys during a long, dramatic and surprising trial. The case remains a mystery to this day, as no other person has been accused of the crime, or arrested.

  "Reporters from every important city in the nation were present during the trial, which occupied some four weeks of constant and repeated testimony for the defense and for the prosecution. No motive for the alleged crime was ever brought to light, and the jury brought in a verdict of not guilty after prolonged balloting. At one time Judge Henry Morrissey appeared to believe that the jury could come to no unanimous conclusion and that he would be compelled to dismiss the jury and call for a new trial. The prosecuting attorney was Mr. Nathan Campbell of Philadelphia, who expressed his disappointment eloquently after the verdict was brought in.

  "Dr. Ferrier returned to Hambledon and his practice. Then he later decided to sell his practice and leave the town. This was due, it has been rumored, to the fact that the town of Hambledon did not wholly accept the verdict of the jury in Philadelphia, and there was some popular feeling against Dr. Ferrier.

  "Because of this, Senator Campion stated today, he himself decided that a full investigation must be begun to clear the name of Dr. Ferrier. Senator Campion is an old friend of Dr. Ferrier and a friend of the family. 'Yet this,' Senator Campion declared to your reporter, 'had no weight in my d
ecision to see justice done and the name of an honorable man and a famous and worthy citizen of my hometown, Hambledon. restored unblemished and honored once again. Therefore, some months ago I quietly instituted an investigation of my own in behalf of Dr. Ferrier, fearless of the truth, and determined only to bring the full facts to public light.

  " 'The investigation was private and conducted through the most estimable citizens and investigators, professionals in their craft. No expense was spared. No stone was left unturned. No possible clue was ignored. The wildest statements were tracked down and proved false or true. No one who had the slightest connection with the case was overlooked. The investigators were sleepless. Finally they admitted that not a single piece of evidence pointed to Dr. Ferrier's guilt.

  " 'Among those consulted sedulously was Dr. Martin Eaton, uncle and adoptive father of the late Mrs. Jonathan Ferrier, who had been present during all the long weeks of the trial. Dr. Eaton had been in failing health since the death of his niece, and evidence has been brought to light that he was, during the final two weeks, in a state of confusion and distress. When the verdict of 'not guilty' was brought in it was reported that he cried out, 'No, no!' He then collapsed in the courtroom, suffering from a severe stroke.

  " 'Dr. Eaton's physical condition prevented him from making his convictions known, he told one of my investigators only three weeks ago,' stated Senator Campion. Then I consulted him also, praying him to give me the truth. Dr. Eaton thereupon declared to me that he had never believed Dr. Ferrier to be guilty and had fully accepted the defense's contentions that Dr. Ferrier had been in Pittsburgh during the crucial time, and had not doubted the sworn testimony of prominent physicians who had been in the company of Dr. Ferrier for several days and had been present at two operations which he had performed on well-known citizens of Pittsburgh. The reason for his ambiguous cry of 'No, no!' when the verdict was brought in, said Dr. Eaton, was because in his bereft and confused state of mind and grief he had believed that the jury had brought in a verdict of guilty, and therefore collapsed. He had been an invalid immured in his house since that time, receiving almost no one, and therefore was unaware that Dr. Ferrier's name was still obscured by the suspicions of the people of Hambledon. When this was brought to his attention, by me and my investigators, he emphatically declared that at no time had he for a moment thought Dr. Ferrier guilty of the heinous crime.