The Case of Jennie Brice

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  CHAPTER XIV

  The next day was the sensational one of the trial. We went throughevery phase of conviction: Jennie Brice was living. Jennie Brice wasdead. The body found at Sewickley could not be Jennie Brice's. Thebody found at Sewickley _was_ Jennie Brice's. And so it went on.

  The defense did an unexpected thing in putting Mr. Ladley on thestand. That day, for the first time, he showed the wear and tear ofthe ordeal. He had no flower in his button-hole, and the rims of hiseyes were red. But he was quite cool. His stage training had taughthim not only to endure the eyes of the crowd, but to find in its gazea sort of stimulant. He made a good witness, I must admit.

  He replied to the usual questions easily. After five minutes or so Mr.Llewellyn got down to work.

  "Mr. Ladley, you have said that your wife was ill the night of Marchfourth?"

  "Yes."

  "What was the nature of her illness?"

  "She had a functional heart trouble, not serious."

  "Will you tell us fully the events of that night?"

  "I had been asleep when my wife wakened me. She asked for a medicineshe used in these attacks. I got up and found the bottle, but it wasempty. As she was nervous and frightened, I agreed to try to get someat a drug store. I went down-stairs, took Mrs. Pitman's boat, and wentto several stores before I could awaken a pharmacist."

  "You cut the boat loose?"

  "Yes. It was tied in a woman's knot, or series of knots. I could notuntie it, and I was in a hurry."

  "How did you cut it?"

  "With my pocket-knife."

  "You did not use Mrs. Pitman's bread-knife?"

  "I did not."

  "And in cutting it, you cut your wrist, did you?"

  "Yes. The knife slipped. I have the scar still."

  "What did you do then?"

  "I went back to the room, and stanched the blood with a towel."

  "From whom did you get the medicine?"

  "From Alexander's Pharmacy."

  "At what time?"

  "I am not certain. About three o'clock, probably."

  "You went directly back home?"

  Mr. Ladley hesitated. "No," he said finally. "My wife had had theseattacks, but they were not serious. I was curious to see how theriver-front looked and rowed out too far. I was caught in the currentand nearly carried away."

  "You came home after that?"

  "Yes, at once. Mrs. Ladley was better and had dropped asleep. Shewakened as I came in. She was disagreeable about the length of time Ihad been gone, and would not let me explain. We--quarreled, and shesaid she was going to leave me. I said that as she had threatened thisbefore and had never done it, I would see that she really started. Atdaylight I rowed her to Federal Street."

  "What had she with her?"

  "A small brown valise."

  "How was she dressed?"

  "In a black and white dress and hat, with a long black coat."

  "What was the last you saw of her?"

  "She was going across the Sixth Street bridge."

  "Alone?"

  "No. She went with a young man we knew."

  There was a stir in the court room at this.

  "Who was the young man?"

  "A Mr. Howell, a reporter on a newspaper here."

  "Have you seen Mr. Howell since your arrest?"

  "No, sir. He has been out of the city."

  I was so excited by this time that I could hardly hear. I missed someof the cross-examination. The district attorney pulled Mr. Ladley'stestimony to pieces.

  "You cut the boat's painter with your pocket-knife?"

  "I did."

  "Then how do you account for Mrs. Pitman's broken knife, with theblade in your room?"

  "I have no theory about it. She may have broken it herself. She hadused it the day before to lift tacks out of a carpet."

  That was true; I had.

  "That early Monday morning was cold, was it not?"

  "Yes. Very."

  "Why did your wife leave without her fur coat?"

  "I did not know she had until we had left the house. Then I did notask her. She would not speak to me."

  "I see. But is it not true that, upon a wet fur coat being shown youas your wife's, you said it could not be hers, as she had taken herswith her?"

  "I do not recall such a statement."

  "You recall a coat being shown you?"

  "Yes. Mrs. Pitman brought a coat to my door, but I was working on aplay I am writing, and I do not remember what I said. The coat wasruined. I did not want it. I probably said the first thing I thoughtof to get rid of the woman."

  I got up at that. I'd held my peace about the bread-knife, but thiswas too much. However, the moment I started to speak, somebody pushedme back into my chair and told me to be quiet.

  "Now, you say you were in such a hurry to get this medicine for yourwife that you cut the rope, thus cutting your wrist."

  "Yes. I have the scar still."

  "You could not wait to untie the boat, and yet you went along theriver-front to see how high the water was?"

  "Her alarm had excited me. But when I got out, and remembered thatthe doctors had told us she would never die in an attack, I grew morecomposed."

  "You got the medicine first, you say?"

  "Yes."

  "Mr. Alexander has testified that you got the medicine atthree-thirty. It has been shown that you left the house at two, andgot back about four. Does not this show that with all your alarm youwent to the river-front first?"

  "I was gone from two to four," he replied calmly. "Mr. Alexander mustbe wrong about the time I wakened him. I got the medicine first."

  "When your wife left you at the bridge, did she say where she wasgoing?"

  "No."

  "You claim that this woman at Horner was your wife?"

  "I think it likely."

  "Was there an onyx clock in the second-story room when you moved intoit?"

  "I do not recall the clock."

  "Your wife did not take an onyx clock away with her?"

  Mr. Ladley smiled. "No."

  The defense called Mr. Howell next. He looked rested, and the happierfor having seen Lida, but he was still pale and showed the strain ofsome hidden anxiety. What that anxiety was, the next two days were totell us all.

  "Mr. Howell," Mr. Llewellyn asked, "you know the prisoner?"

  "Slightly."

  "State when you met him."

  "On Sunday morning, March the fourth. I went to see him."

  "Will you tell us the nature of that visit?"

  "My paper had heard he was writing a play for himself. I was to get aninterview, with photographs, if possible."

  "You saw his wife at that time?"

  "Yes."

  "When did you see her again?"

  "The following morning, at six o'clock, or a little later. I walkedacross the Sixth Street bridge with her, and put her on a train forHorner, Pennsylvania."

  "You are positive it was Jennie Brice?"

  "Yes. I watched her get out of the boat, while her husband steadiedit."

  "If you knew this, why did you not come forward sooner?"

  "I have been out of the city."

  "But you knew the prisoner had been arrested, and that this testimonyof yours would be invaluable to him."

  "Yes. But I thought it necessary to produce Jennie Brice herself. Myunsupported word--"

  "You have been searching for Jennie Brice?"

  "Yes. Since March the eighth."

  "How was she dressed when you saw her last?"

  "She wore a red and black hat and a black coat. She carried a smallbrown valise."

  "Thank you."

  The cross-examination did not shake his testimony. But it brought outsome curious things. Mr. Howell refused to say how he happened to beat the end of the Sixth Street bridge at that hour, or why he hadthought it necessary, on meeting a woman he claimed to have known onlytwenty-four hours, to go with her to the railway station and put heron a train.

&nbs
p; The jury was visibly impressed and much shaken. For Mr. Howell carriedconviction in every word he said; he looked the district attorneyin the eye, and once when our glances crossed he even smiled at mefaintly. But I saw why he had tried to find Jennie Brice, and haddreaded testifying. Not a woman in that court room, and hardly a man,but believed when he left the stand, that he was, or had been, JennieBrice's lover, and as such was assisting her to leave her husband.

  "Then you believe," the district attorney said at the end,--"youbelieve, Mr. Howell, that Jennie Brice is living?"

  "Jennie Brice was living on Monday morning, March the fifth," he saidfirmly.

  "Miss Shaeffer has testified that on Wednesday this woman, who youclaim was Jennie Brice, sent a letter to you from Horner. Is that thecase?"

  "Yes."

  "The letter was signed 'Jennie Brice'?"

  "It was signed 'J.B.'"

  "Will you show the court that letter?"

  "I destroyed it."

  "It was a personal letter?"

  "It merely said she had arrived safely, and not to let any one knowwhere she was."

  "And yet you destroyed it?"

  "A postscript said to do so."

  "Why?"

  "I do not know. An extra precaution probably."

  "You were under the impression that she was going to stay there?"

  "She was to have remained for a week."

  "And you have been searching for this woman for two months?"

  He quailed, but his voice was steady. "Yes," he admitted.

  He was telling the truth, even if it was not all the truth. I believe,had it gone to the jury then, Mr. Ladley would have been acquitted.But, late that afternoon, things took a new turn. Counsel for theprosecution stated to the court that he had a new and importantwitness, and got permission to introduce this further evidence. Thewitness was a Doctor Littlefield, and proved to be my one-night tenantof the second-story front. Holcombe's prisoner of the night beforetook the stand. The doctor was less impressive in full daylight; hewas a trifle shiny, a bit bulbous as to nose and indifferent as tofinger-nails. But his testimony was given with due professionalweight.

  "You are a doctor of medicine, Doctor Littlefield?" asked the districtattorney.

  "Yes."

  "In active practise?"

  "I have a Cure for Inebriates in Des Moines, Iowa. I was formerly ingeneral practise in New York City."

  "You knew Jennie Ladley?"

  "I had seen her at different theaters. And she consulted meprofessionally at one time in New York."

  "You operated on her, I believe?"

  "Yes. She came to me to have a name removed. It had been tattooed overher heart."

  "You removed it?"

  "Not at once. I tried fading the marks with goat's milk, but she wasimpatient. On the third visit to my office she demanded that the namebe cut out."

  "You did it?"

  "Yes. She refused a general anesthetic and I used cocaine. The namewas John--I believe a former husband. She intended to marry again."

  A titter ran over the court room. People strained to the utmost arealways glad of an excuse to smile. The laughter of a wrought-up crowdalways seems to me half hysterical.

  "Have you seen photographs of the scar on the body found at Sewickley?Or the body itself?"

  "No, I have not."

  "Will you describe the operation?"

  "I made a transverse incision for the body of the name, and twovertical ones--one longer for the _J_, the other shorter, for thestem of the _h_. There was a dot after the name. I made a half-inchincision for it."

  "Will you sketch the cicatrix as you recall it?"

  The doctor made a careful drawing on a pad that was passed to him. Thedrawing was much like this.

  Line for line, dot for dot, it was the scar on the body found atSewickley.

  "You are sure the woman was Jennie Brice?"

  "She sent me tickets for the theater shortly after. And I had anannouncement of her marriage to the prisoner, some weeks later."

  "Were there any witnesses to the operation?"

  "My assistant; I can produce him at any time."

  That was not all of the trial, but it was the decisive moment. Shortlyafter, the jury withdrew, and for twenty-four hours not a word washeard from them.