The Ear in the Wall

by Arthur B. Reeve

  XIII

  THE CONVICTION

  Meanwhile, the organization was using every effort to get possession ofthe Black Book, as Kennedy had suspected.

  Miss Ashton had been busy on the case of the missing Betty Blackwell,but as yet there was no report from any of the agencies which she hadset in motion to locate the girl. She had seen Langhorne, and, althoughshe did not say much about the result of the interview, I felt surethat it had resulted in a further estrangement between them, perhaps asuspicion on the part of Langhorne that Carton had been responsible forit.

  In as tactful a way as possible, Miss Ashton had also warned Mrs.Ogleby of the danger she ran, but, as I had already supposed, thewarning had been unnecessary. The rumours about the detectaphone recordof the dinner had been quite enough. As for the dinner itself, whathappened, and who were present, it remained still a mystery, perhapsonly to be explained when at last we managed to locate the book.

  Since the visit of Kahn, we had had no direct or indirectcommunications with either Dorgan or Murtha. They were, however, farfrom inactive, and I felt that their very secrecy, which had alwaysbeen the strong card of the organization, boded no good. Although bothCarton and Kennedy were straining every nerve to make progress in thecase, there was indeed very little to report, either the next day orfor some time after the episode which had placed Kahn in our power.

  Carton was careful not to say anything about the graphic record we hadtaken of Kahn's attempt to throw the case. It was better so, he felt.The jury fixing evidence would keep and it would prove all the strongertrump to play when the right occasion arose. That time rapidlyapproached, now, with the day set for the trial of Dopey Jack.

  The morning of the trial found both Kennedy and myself in the part ofGeneral Sessions to which the case had been assigned to be tried underJustice Pomeroy.

  To one who would watch the sieve through which justice vigorously triesto separate the wheat from the chaff, the innocent from the guilty, avisit to General Sessions is the best means. For it is fed through thechannels that lead through the police courts, the Grand Jury chambers,and the District Attorney's office. There one can study the largestassortment of criminals outside of a penal institution, from the ArtfulDodger and Bill Sykes, Fagin and Jim the Penman, to the most modern ofnoted crooks of fact or fiction, all done here in real flesh and blood.It is the busiest of criminal courts. More serious offenders againstthe law are sentenced here than in any other court in New York. Thefinal chapter in nearly every big crime is written there, sooner orlater.

  As we crowded in, thanks to the courtesy of Carton, we found a roomychamber, with high ceiling, and grey, impressive walls in the southeastcorner of the second floor of the Criminal Courts Building. Heavycarved oaken doors afforded entrance and exit for the hundreds oflawyers, witnesses, friends, and relatives of defendants andcomplainants who flocked thither.

  Rows upon rows of dark-brown stained chairs filled the west half of thecourtroom, facing a three-foot railing that enclosed a jury box andspace reserved for counsel tables, the clerk and the District Attorneyrepresenting the people.

  At the extreme east rose in severe dignity the dais or bench abovewhich ascended a draped canopy of rich brown plush. Here JusticePomeroy presided, in his robes of silk, a striking, white-haired figureof a man, whose face was seamed and whose eyes were keen with thoughtand observation.

  Across the street, reached by the famous Bridge of Sighs, loomed thegreat grey hulk of stone and steel bars, the city prison, usuallyreferred to as "The Tombs." As if there had been some cunning design inthe juxtaposition, the massive jail reared itself outside the windowsas an object lesson. It was a perpetual warning to the lawbreaker. Itstowers and projections jutted out as so many rocks on a dangerous shorewhere had been wrecked thousands of promising careers just embarked onthe troublesome seas of life.

  Skirting the line of southern windows through which The Tombs wasvisible, ran a steel wire screen, eight feet high, marking off a narrowchute that hugged the walls to a door at the rear of the courtroomleading to the detention pen. Ordinarily prisoners were brought overthe Bridge of Sighs in small droves and herded in the detention pensjust outside the courtroom until their cases were called.

  The line-up of prisoners at such times awaiting their turn at the barof justice affords ample opportunity for study to the professional orthe amateur criminalist.

  Almost daily in this court one might look upon murderers, bank looters,clever forgers, taxicab robbers, safe crackers, highwaymen,second-story men, shoplifters, pickpockets, thieves, big andlittle--all sorts and conditions of crooks come to pay the price.

  The court was crowded, for the gang leaders knew that this was ashow-down for them. Carton himself, not one of his assistants, was toconduct the case. If Dopey Jack, who had violated almost every law inthe revised statutes and had never suffered anything worse than asuspended sentence, could not get off, then no one could. And it wasunthinkable that Dopey should not only be arrested and held in jailwithout bail, but even be convicted on such a trivial matter as slightirregularities that swung the primaries in a large section of the cityfor his superior, "higher up."

  Rubano's father, a decent, sorrowing old man, sat in the rear of thecourtroom, probably wondering how it had all happened, for he cameevidently of a clean, law-abiding family.

  But there was nothing in the appearance of the insolent criminal at thebar to show that he was of the same breed. He was no longer theathlete, whom "prize fighting" had inculcated with principles ofmanliness and fair play as well as a strong body. All that, as I hadseen often before, was a pitiful lie. He was rat-eyed and soft-handed.His skin had the pastiness that comes of more exposure to the glare ofvile dance halls than the sunlight of day. His black hair was slickeddown; he was faultlessly tailored and his shoes had those high, bulgingtoes which are the extreme of Fourteenth Street fashion.

  Outside, overflowing into the corridor, were gangsters, followers andfriends of Dopey Jack. Only an overpowering show of force preserved theorderliness of the court from their boasting, bragging, and threats.

  The work of selecting the jury began, and we watched it carefully.Kahn, cool and cunning, had evidently no idea of what Carton washolding out against him. In the panel I could see the anemic-lookingfellow whom we had caught with the goods up at Farrell's. Carton's menhad shadowed him and had learned of every man with whom he had spoken.As each, for some reason or other, was objected to by Carton, Kahnbegan to show exasperation.

  At last the anemic fellow came up for examination. Kahn accepted him.

  For a moment Carton seemed to fumble among his papers, without evenlooking at the prospective juror. Then he drew out the print whichKennedy had made. Quietly, without letting anyone else see it, hedeliberately walked to Kahn's table and showed it to the lawyer,without a word, in fact without anyone else in the court knowinganything about it.

  Kahn's face was a study, as he realized for the first time what it wasthat Carton and Kennedy had been doing that night at Farrell's. Hepaled. His hand shook. It was with the utmost effort that he couldcontrol his voice. He had been cornered and the yellow streak in himshowed through.

  In a husky voice he withdrew the juror, and Carton, in the same cold,self-possessed manner resumed his former position, not even a trace ofa smile on his features.

  It was all done so quickly that scarcely a soul in the court besidesourselves realized that anything had happened.

  "Isn't he going to say anything about it?" I whispered to Craig.

  "That will come later," was all that Kennedy replied, his eyes rivetedstill on Carton.

  Though no one besides ourselves realized it, Carton had thrown abombshell that had demolished the defence. Others noticed it, but asyet did not know the cause. Kahn, the great Kahn by whom all the forcesof the underworld had conjured, was completely unnerved. Carton hadfixed it so that he could not retreat and leave the case to someoneelse. He had knocked the props from under his defence by uncannilyturning down every man whom
he had any reason of suspecting of havingbeen approached. Then he had given Kahn just a glimpse of the evidencethat hinted at what was in store for himself personally. Kahn was neverthe same after that.

  Judge Pomeroy, who had been following the progress of the caseattentively, threw another bombshell when he announced that he woulddirect that the names of the jurors be kept secret until it wasabsolutely necessary to disclose them, a most unusual proceedingdesigned to protect them from reprisals of gangmen.

  At last the real trial began. Carton had been careful to see that noneof the witnesses for the people should be "stiffened" as the processwas elegantly expressed by those of Dopey Jack's class--in other words,intimidated, bribed, or otherwise rendered innocuous. One afteranother, Carton rammed home the facts of the case, the fraudulentregistration and voting, the use of the names of dead men to pad thepolling lists, the bribery of election officials at the primaries--thewhole sordid, debasing story of how Dopey Jack had intimidated andswung one entire district.

  It was clever, as he presented it, with scarcely a reference to thename of Murtha, the beneficiary of such tactics--as though, perhaps,Murtha's case was in his mind separate and would be attended to laterwhen his turn came.

  Rapidly, concisely, convincingly, Carton presented the facts. Now andthen Kahn would rise to object to something as incompetent, irrelevant,and immaterial. But there was lacking something in his method. It wasnot the old Kahn. In fact, one almost felt that Carton was disappointedin his adversary, that he would have preferred a stiff, straight fromthe shoulder, stand-up fight.

  Now and then we could hear a whisper circulating about among thespectators. What was the matter with Kahn? Was he ill? Gangdom was in adaze itself, little knowing the smooth stone that Carton had slungbetween the eyes of the great underworld Goliath of the law.

  At last Carton's case was all in, and Kahn rose to present his own, aforced smile on his face.

  There was an attempt at a demonstration, but Judge Pomeroy rappedsharply for order, and alert court attendants were about to nipeffectively any such outburst. Still, it was enough to show theundercurrent of open defiance of the court, of law, of the people.

  What it was no one but ourselves knew but Kahn was not himself. Otherssaw it, but did not understand. They had waited patiently through thesledge-hammer pounding of Carton, waiting expectantly for Kahn toexplode a mine that would demolish the work of the District Attorney asif it had been so much paper. Carton had figuratively dampened thefuse. It sputtered, but the mine did not explode.

  Once or twice there were flashes of the old Kahn, but for the most parthe seemed to have crumpled up. Often I thought he was not the equal ofeven a police court lawyer. The spectators seemed to know thatsomething was wrong, though they could not tell just what it was.Kahn's colleagues whispered among themselves. He made his points, butthey lacked the fire and dash and audacity that once had caused theepigram that Kahn's appearance in court indicated two things--the guiltof the accused and a verdict of acquittal.

  Even Justice Pomeroy seemed to notice it. Kahn had tried many a casebefore him and the old judge had a wholesome respect for the wileylawyer. But to-day the court found nothing so grave as the strangedilatoriness of the counsel.

  Once the judge had to interfere with the remark, "I may remind thelearned counsel for the defence that the court intends to finish thiscase before adjournment for the day, if possible; if not, then we shallsit to-night."

  Kahn seemed not to grasp the situation, as he had of old. He actuallyhurried up the presentation of the case, oblivious to the now blacklooks that were directed at him by his own client. If he had expectedto recover his old-time equanimity as the case proceeded, he failed.For no one better than he knew what that little photograph of Carton'smeant--disgrace, disbarment, perhaps prison itself. What was this DopeyJack when ruin stared himself so relentlessly in the face in the personof Carton, calm and cool?

  At last the summing up was concluded and both sides rested. JudgePomeroy charged the jury, I thought with eminent fairness andimpartiality, even, perhaps, glossing over some points which Kahn'sweak presentation might have allowed him to make more of if Kahn hadbeen bolder and stronger in pressing them.

  The jury filed out and the anxious waiting began. On all sides was thebuzz of conversation. Kahn himself sat silent, gazing for the most partat the papers before him. There must have been some wrangling of thejury, for twice hope of the gangsters revived when they sent in for therecord.

  But it was not over an hour later when the jury finally filed backagain into their box. As Judge Pomeroy faced them and asked the usualquestion, the spectators hung, breathless, on the words of the foremanas the jurors stood up silently in their places. There was a tense hushin the courtroom, as every eye was fastened on the face of the foreman.

  The hush seemed to embarrass him. But finally he found his voice.Nervously, as if he were taking his own life in his hands he deliveredthe verdict.

  "We find the defendant guilty as charged in the indictment!"

  Instantly, before anyone could move, the dignified judge faced theprisoner deliberately.

  "You have heard the verdict," he said colourlessly. "I shall sentenceyou Friday."

  Three court attendants were at Dopey Jack's side in a moment, but nonetoo soon. The pent-up feeling of the man idolized by blackmailers, andman-killers, and batteners on street-women, who held nothing asdisgrace but a sign of respect for law or remorse for capture, burstforth.

  He cast one baleful look at Kahn as they hurried him to thewire-screened passageway. "It's all a frame-up--a damned frame-up!" heshouted.

  As he disappeared a murmer of amazement ran through the room. Theunthinkable had happened. An East Side idol had fallen.