XXV.
AMONG TELESCOPES AND CHARTS
Tarry a little – there is something else. – Merchant of Venice.
GOUVERNEUR HILDRETH was discharged and Craik Mansell committed to prison to await his trial.
Horace Byrd, who no longer had any motive for remaining in Sibley, had completed all his preparations to return to New York. His valise was packed, his adieus made, and nothing was left for him to do but to step around to the station, when he bethought him of a certain question he had not put to Hickory.
Seeking him out, he propounded it.
"Hickory," said he, "have you ever discovered in the course of your inquiries where Miss Dare was on the morning of the murder?"
The stalwart detective, who was in a very contented frame of mind, answered up with great cheeriness:
"Haven't I, though! It was one of the very first things I made sure of. She was at Professor Darling's house on Summer Avenue."
"At Professor Darling's house?" Mr. Byrd felt a sensation of dismay. Professor Darling's house was, as you remember, in almost direct communication with Mrs. Clemmens' cottage by means of a path through the woods. As Mr. Byrd recalled his first experience in threading those woods, and remembered with what suddenness he had emerged from them only to find himself in full view of the West Side and Professor Darling's spacious villa, he stared uneasily at his colleague and said:
"It is train time, Hickory, but I cannot help that. Before I leave this town I must know just what she was doing on that morning, and whom she was with. Can you find out?"
"Can I find out?"
The hardy detective was out of the door before the last word of this scornful repetition had left his lips.
He was gone an hour. When he returned he looked very much excited.
"Well!" he ejaculated, breathlessly, "I have had an experience."
Mr. Byrd gave him a look, saw something he did not like in his face, and moved uneasily in his chair.
"You have?" he retorted. "What is it? Speak."
"Do you know," the other resumed, "that the hardest thing I ever had to do was to keep my head down in the hut the other day, and deny myself a look at the woman who could bear herself so bravely in the midst of a scene so terrible. Well," he went on, "I have to-day been rewarded for my self-control. I have seen Miss Dare."
Horace Byrd could scarcely restrain his impatience.
"Where?" he demanded. "How? Tell a fellow, can't you?"
"I am going to," protested Hickory. "Cannot you wait a minute? I had to wait forty. Well," he continued more pleasantly as he saw the other frown, "I went to Professor Darling's. There is a girl there I have talked to before, and I had no difficulty in seeing her or getting a five minutes' chat with her at the back-gate. Odd how such girls will talk! She told me in three minutes all I wanted to know. Not that it was so much, only – "
"Do get on," interrupted Mr. Byrd. "When did Miss Dare come to the house on the morning Mrs. Clemmens was murdered, and what did she do while there?"
"She came early; by ten o'clock or so, I believe, and she sat, if she did sit, in an observatory they have at the top of the house: a place where she often used to go, I am told, to study astronomy with Professor Darling's oldest daughter."
"And was Miss Darling with her that morning? Did they study together all the time she was in the house?"
"No; that is, the girl said no one went up to the observatory with Miss Dare; that Miss Darling did not happen to be at home that day, and Miss Dare had to study alone. Hearing this," pursued Hickory, answering the look of impatience in the other's face, "I had a curiosity to interview the observatory, and being – well, not a clumsy fellow at softsoaping a girl – I at last succeeded in prevailing upon her to take me up. Byrd, will you believe me when I tell you that we did it without going into the house?"
"What?"
"I mean," corrected the other, "without entering the main part of the building. The professor's house has a tower, you know, at the upper angle toward the woods, and it is in the top of that tower he keeps his telescopes and all that kind of thing. The tower has a special staircase of its own. It is a spiral one, and opens on a door below that connects directly with the garden. We went up these stairs."
"You dared to?"
"Yes; the girl assured me every one was out of the house but the servants, and I believed her. We went up the stairs, entered the observatory – "
"It is not kept locked, then?"
"It was not locked to-day – saw the room, which is a curious one – glanced out over the view, which is well worth seeing, and then – "
"Well, what?"
"I believe I stood still and asked the girl a question or two more. I inquired," he went on, deprecating the other's impatience by a wave of his nervous hand, "when Miss Dare came down from this place on the morning you remember. She answered that she couldn't quite tell; that she wouldn't have remembered any thing about it at all, only that Miss Tremaine came to the house that morning, and wanting to see Miss Dare, ordered her to go up to the observatory and tell that lady to come down, and that she went, but to her surprise did not find Miss Dare there, though she was sure she had not gone home, or, at least, hadn't taken any of the cars that start from the front of the house, for she had looked at them every one as they went by the basement window where she was at work."
"The girl said this?"
"Yes, standing in the door of this small room, and looking me straight in the eye."
"And did you ask her nothing more? Say nothing about the time, Hickory, or – or inquire where she supposed Miss Dare to have gone?"
"Yes, I asked her all this. I am not without curiosity any more than you are, Mr. Byrd."
"And she replied?"
"Oh, as to the time, that it was somewhere before noon. Her reason for being sure of this was that Miss Tremaine declined to wait till another effort had been made to find Miss Dare, saying she had an engagement at twelve which she did not wish to break."
"And the girl's notions about where Miss Dare had gone?"
"Such as you expect, Byrd. She said she did not know any thing about it, but that Miss Dare often went strolling in the garden, or even in the woods when she came to Professor Darling's house, and that she supposed she had gone off on some such walk at this time, for, at one o'clock or thereabouts, she saw her pass in the horse-car on her way back to the town."
"Hickory, I wish you had not told me this just as I am going back to the city."
"Wish I had not told it, or wish I had not gone to Professor Darling's house as you requested?"
"Wish you had not told it. I dare not wish the other. But you spoke of seeing Miss Dare; how was that? Where did you run across her?"
"Do you want to hear?"
"Of course, of course."
"But I thought – "
"Oh, never mind, old boy; tell me the whole now, as long as you have told me any. Was she in the house?"
"I will tell you. I had asked the girl all these questions, as I have said, and was about to leave the observatory and go below when I thought I would cast another glance around the curious old place, and in doing so caught a glimpse of a huge portfolio of charts, as I supposed, standing upright in a rack that stretched across the further portion of the room. Somehow my heart misgave me when I saw this rack, and, scarcely conscious what it was I feared, I crossed the floor and looked behind the portfolio. Byrd, there was a woman crouched there – a woman whose pallid cheeks and burning eyes lifted to meet my own, told me only too plainly that it was Miss Dare. I have had many experiences," Hickory allowed, after a moment, "and some of them any thing but pleasant to myself, but I don't think I ever felt just as I did at that instant. I believe I attempted a bow – I don't remember; or, at least, tried to murmur some excuse, but the look that came into her face paralyzed me, and I stopped before I had gotten very far, and waited to hear what she would say. But she did not say much; she merely rose, and, turning toward me, exclaimed: 'No apologies; you are a detective, I suppose?' And when I nodded, or made some other token that she had guessed correctly, she merely remarked, flashing upon me, however, in a way I do not yet understand: 'Well, you have got what you desired, and now can go.' And I went, Byrd, went; and I felt puzzled, I don't know why, and a little bit sore about the heart, too, as if – Well, I can't even tell what I mean by that if. The only thing I am sure of is, that Mansell's cause hasn't been helped by this day's job, and that if this lady is asked on the witness stand where she was during the hour every one believed her to be safely shut up with the telescopes and charts, we shall hear – "
"What?"
"Well, that she was shut up with them, most likely. Women like her are not to be easily disconcerted even on the witness stand."
XXVI.
"HE SHALL HEAR ME!"
There's some ill planet reigns;
I must be patient till the heavens look
With an aspect more favorable. – Winter's Tale.
THE time is midnight, the day the same as that which saw this irruption of Hickory into Professor Darling's observatory; the scene that of Miss Dare's own room in the northeast tower. She is standing before a table with a letter in her hand and a look upon her face that, if seen, would have added much to the puzzlement of the detectives.
The letter was from Mr. Orcutt and ran thus:
I have seen Mr. Mansell, and have engaged myself to undertake his defence. When I tell you that out of the hundreds of cases I have tried in my still short life, I have lost but a small percentage, you will understand what this means.
In pursuance to your wishes, I mentioned your name to the prisoner with an intimation that I had a message from you to deliver. But he stopped me before I could utter a word. "I receive no communication from Miss Dare!" he declared, and, anxious as I really was to do your bidding, I was compelled to refrain; for his tone was one of hatred and his look that of ineffable scorn.
This was all, but it was enough. Imogene had read these words over three times, and now was ready to plunge the letter into the flame of a candle to destroy it. As it burned, her grief and indignation took words:
"He is alienated, completely alienated," she gasped; "and I do not wonder. But," and here the full majesty of her nature broke forth in one grand gesture, "he shall hear me yet! As there is a God above, he shall hear me yet, even if it has to be in the open court and in the presence of judge and jury!"
BOOK III.
THE SCALES OF JUSTICE
XXVII.
THE GREAT TRIAL
Othello.– What dost thou think?
Iago.– Think, my lord?
Othello.– By heav'n, he echoes me.
As if there was some monster in his thought
Too hideous to be shown. – Othello.
SIBLEY was in a stir. Sibley was the central point of interest for the whole country. The great trial was in progress and the curiosity of the populace knew no bounds.
In a room of the hotel sat our two detectives. They had just come from the court-house. Both seemed inclined to talk, though both showed an indisposition to open the conversation. A hesitation lay between them; a certain thin vail of embarrassment that either one would have found it hard to explain, and yet which sufficed to make their intercourse a trifle uncertain in its character, though Hickory's look had lost none of its rude good-humor, and Byrd's manner was the same mixture of easy nonchalance and quiet self-possession it had always been.
It was Hickory who spoke at last.
"Well, Byrd?" was his suggestive exclamation.
"Well, Hickory?" was the quiet reply.
"What do you think of the case so far?"
"I think" – the words came somewhat slowly – "I think that it looks bad. Bad for the prisoner, I mean," he explained the next moment with a quick flush.
"Your sympathies are evidently with Mansell," Hickory quietly remarked.
"Yes," was the slow reply. "Not that I think him innocent, or would turn a hair's breadth from the truth to serve him."
"He is a manly fellow," Hickory bluntly admitted, after a moment's puff at the pipe he was smoking. "Do you remember the peculiar straightforwardness of his look when he uttered his plea of 'Not guilty,' and the tone he used too, so quiet, yet so emphatic? You could have heard a pin drop."
"Yes," returned Mr. Byrd, with a quick contraction of his usually smooth brow.
"Have you noticed," the other broke forth, after another puff, "a certain curious air of disdain that he wears?"
"Yes," was again the short reply.
"I wonder what it means?" queried Hickory carelessly, knocking the ashes out of his pipe.
Mr. Byrd flashed a quick askance look at his colleague from under his half-fallen lids, but made no answer.
"It is not pride alone," resumed the rough-and-ready detective, half-musingly; "though he's as proud as the best of 'em. Neither is it any sort of make-believe, or I wouldn't be caught by it. 'Tis – 'tis – what?" And Hickory rubbed his nose with his thoughtful forefinger, and looked inquiringly at Mr. Byrd.
"How should I know?" remarked the other, tossing his stump of a cigar into the fire. "Mr. Mansell is too deep a problem for me."
"And Miss Dare too?"
"And Miss Dare."
Silence followed this admission, which Hickory broke at last by observing:
"The day that sees her on the witness stand will be interesting, eh?"
"It is not far off," declared Mr. Byrd.
"No?"
"I think she will be called as a witness to-morrow."
"Have you noticed," began Hickory again, after another short interval of quiet contemplation, "that it is only when Miss Dare is present that Mansell wears the look of scorn I have just mentioned."
"Hickory," said Mr. Byrd, wheeling directly about in his chair and for the first time surveying his colleague squarely, "I have noticed this. That ever since the day she made her first appearance in the court-room, she has sat with her eyes fixed earnestly upon the prisoner, and that he has never answered her look by so much as a glance in her direction. This has but one explanation as I take it. He never forgets that it is through her he has been brought to trial for his life."
Mr. Byrd uttered this very distinctly, and with a decided emphasis. But the impervious Hickory only settled himself farther back in his chair, and stretching his feet out toward the fire, remarked dryly:
"Perhaps I am not much of a judge of human nature, but I should have said now that this Mansell was not a man to treat her contemptuously for that. Rage he might show or hatred, but this quiet ignoring of her presence seems a little too dignified for a criminal facing a person he has every reason to believe is convinced of his guilt."
"Ordinary rules don't apply to this man. Neither you nor I can sound his nature. If he displays contempt, it is because he is of the sort to feel it for the woman who has betrayed him."
"You make him out mean-spirited, then, as well as wicked?"
"I make him out human. More than that," Mr. Byrd resumed, after a moment's thought, "I make him out consistent. A man who lets his passions sway him to the extent of committing a murder for the purpose of satisfying his love or his ambition, is not of the unselfish cast that would appreciate such a sacrifice as Miss Dare has made. This under the supposition that our reasons for believing him guilty are well founded. If our suppositions are false, and the crime was not committed by him, his contempt needs no explanation."
"Just so!"
The peculiar tone in which this was uttered caused Mr. Byrd to flash another quick look at his colleague. Hickory did not seem to observe it.
"What makes you think Miss Dare will be called to the witness stand to-morrow?" he asked.
"Well I will tell you," returned Byrd, with the sudden vivacity of one glad to turn the current of conversation into a fresh channel. "If you have followed the method of the prosecution as I have done, you will have noticed that it has advanced to its point by definite stages. First, witnesses were produced to prove the existence of motive on the part of the accused. Mr. Goodman was called to the witness stand, and, after him, other business men of Buffalo, all of whom united in unqualified assertions of the prisoner's frequently-expressed desire for a sum of money sufficient to put his invention into practical use. Next, the amount considered necessary for this purpose was ascertained and found to be just covered by the legacy bequeathed him by his aunt; after which, ample evidence was produced to show that he knew the extent of her small fortune, and the fact that she had by her will made him her heir. Motive for the crime being thus established, they now proceeded to prove that he was not without actual opportunity for perpetrating it. He was shown to have been in Sibley at the time of the murder. The station-master at Monteith was confronted with the prisoner, also old Sally Perkins. Then you and I came before the court with our testimony, and whatever doubt may have remained as to his having been in a position to effect his aunt's death, and afterward escape unnoticed by means of the path leading over the hills to Monteith Quarry station, was swept away. What remains? To connect him with the murder itself, by some, strong link of circumstantial evidence, such as the ring provides. And who is it that can give testimony regarding the ring? – Miss Dare."
"Hem! Well, she will do it," was the dry remark of Hickory.
"She will be obliged to do it," was the emphatic response of Byrd.
And again their glances crossed in a furtive way both seemed ready to ignore.
"What do you think of Orcutt?" Hickory next inquired.
"He is very quiet."
"Too quiet, eh?"
"Perhaps. Folks that know him well declare they never before saw him conduct a case in so temperate a manner. He has scarcely made an effort at cross-examination, and, in fact, has thus far won nothing for the defence except that astonishing tribute to the prisoner's character given by Mr. Goodman."
"Mr. Goodman is Mansell's friend."
"I know it; but his short, decisive statements told upon the jury. Such a man as he made Mansell out to be is just the sort to create an impression on a body of men like them."
"Orcutt understands a jury."
"Orcutt understands his case. He knows he can make nothing by attempting to shake the evidence which has been presented by the prosecution; the facts are too clear, and the witnesses which have been called to testify are of too reliable a character. Whatever defence he contemplates, it will not rest upon a denial of any of the facts brought to light through our efforts, or the evidence of such persons as Messrs. Goodman and Harrison."
"No."
"The question is, then, in what will it lie? Some strong point, I warrant you, or he would not hold himself and his plans so completely in reserve. But what strong point? I acknowledge the uncertainty troubles me."
"I don't wonder," rejoined Hickory. "So it does me."
And a constraint again fell between them that lasted till Hickory put his pipe in his pocket and signified his intention of returning to his own apartments.
XXVIII.
THE CHIEF WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION
Oh, while you live tell truth and shame the devil!
– Henry IV.
MR. BYRD'S countenance after the departure of his companion was any thing but cheerful. The fact is, he was secretly uneasy. He dreaded the morrow. He dreaded the testimony of Miss Dare. He had not yet escaped so fully from under the dominion of her fascinations as to regard with equanimity this unhappy woman forcing herself to give testimony compromising to the man she loved.
Yet when the morrow came he was among the first to secure a seat in the court-room. Though the scene was likely to be harrowing to his feelings, he had no wish to lose it, and, indeed, chose such a position as would give him the best opportunity for observing the prisoner and surveying the witnesses.
He was not the only one on the look-out for the testimony of Miss Dare. The increased number of the spectators and the general air of expectation visible in more than one of the chief actors in this terrible drama gave suspicious proof of the fact; even if the deadly pallor of the lady herself had not revealed her own feelings in regard to the subject.
The entrance of the prisoner was more marked, too, than usual. His air and manner were emphasized, so to speak, and his face, when he turned it toward the jury, wore an iron look of resolution that would have made him conspicuous had he occupied a less prominent position than that of the dock.
Miss Dare, who had flashed her eyes toward him at the moment of his first appearance, dropped them again, contrary to her usual custom. Was it because she knew the moment was at hand when their glances would be obliged to meet?
Mr. Orcutt, whom no movement on the part of Miss Dare ever escaped, leaned over and spoke to the prisoner.
"Mr. Mansell," said he, "are you prepared to submit with composure to the ordeal of confronting Miss Dare?"
"Yes," was the stern reply.
"I would then advise you to look at her now," proceeded his counsel. "She is not turned this way, and you can observe her without encountering her glance. A quick look at this moment may save you from betraying any undue emotion when you see her upon the stand."
The accused smiled with a bitterness Mr. Orcutt thought perfectly natural, and slowly prepared to obey. As he raised his eyes and allowed them to traverse the room until they settled upon the countenance of the woman he loved, this other man who, out of a still more absorbing passion for Imogene, was at that very moment doing all that lay in his power for the saving of this his openly acknowledged rival, watched him with the closest and most breathless attention. It was another instance of that peculiar fascination which a successful rival has for an unsuccessful one. It was as if this great lawyer's thoughts reverted to his love, and he asked himself: "What is there in this Mansell that she should prefer him to me?"
And Orcutt himself, though happily unaware of the fact, was at that same instant under a scrutiny as narrow as that he bestowed upon his client. Mr. Ferris, who knew his secret, felt a keen interest in watching how he would conduct himself at this juncture. Not an expression of the lawyer's keen and puzzling eye but was seen by the District Attorney and noted, even if it was not understood.
Of the three, Mr. Ferris was the first to turn away, and his thoughts if they could have been put into words might have run something like this: "That man" – meaning Orcutt – "is doing the noblest work one human being can perform for another, and yet there is something in his face I do not comprehend. Can it be he hopes to win Miss Dare by his effort to save his rival?"
As for the thoughts of the person thus unconsciously subjected to the criticism of his dearest friend, let our knowledge of the springs that govern his action serve to interpret both the depth and bitterness of his curiosity; while the sentiments of Mansell – But who can read what lurks behind the iron of that sternly composed countenance? Not Imogene, not Orcutt, not Ferris. His secret, if he owns one, he keeps well, and his lids scarcely quiver as he drops them over the eyes that but a moment before reflected the grand beauty of the unfortunate woman for whom he so lately protested the most fervent love.
The next moment the court was opened and Miss Dare's name was called by the District Attorney.
With a last look at the unresponsive prisoner, Imogene rose, took her place on the witness stand and faced the jury.
It was a memorable moment. If the curious and impressible crowd of spectators about her had been ignorant of her true relations to the accused, the deadly stillness and immobility of her bearing would have convinced them that emotion of the deepest nature lay behind the still, white mask she had thought fit to assume. That she was beautiful and confronted them from that common stand as from a throne, did not serve to lessen the impression she made.
The officer held the Bible toward her. With a look that Mr. Byrd was fain to consider one of natural shrinking only, she laid her white hand upon it; but at the intimation from the officer, "The right hand, if you please, miss," she started and made the exchange he suggested, while at the same moment there rang upon her ear the voice of the clerk as he administered the awful adjuration that she should, as she believed and hoped in Eternal mercy, tell the truth as between this man and the law and keep not one tittle back. The book was then lifted to her lips by the officer, and withdrawn.
"Take your seat, Miss Dare," said the District Attorney. And the examination began.
"Your name, if you please?"
"Imogene Dare."
"Are you married or single?"
"I am single."
"Where were you born?"
Now this was a painful question to one of her history. Indeed, she showed it to be so by the flush which rose to her cheek and by the decided trembling of her proud lip. But she did not seek to evade it.
"Sir," she said, "I cannot answer you. I never heard any of the particulars of my birth. I was a foundling."
The mingled gentleness and dignity with which she made this acknowledgment won for her the instantaneous sympathy of all present. Mr. Orcutt saw this, and the flash of indignation that had involuntarily passed between him and the prisoner subsided as quickly as it arose.
Mr. Ferris went on.
"Where do you live?"
"In this town?"
"With whom do you live?"
"I am boarding at present with a woman of the name of Kennedy. I support myself by my needle," she hurriedly added, as though anxious to forestall his next question.
Seeing the prisoner start at this, Imogene lifted her head still higher. Evidently this former lover of hers knew little of her movements since they parted so many weeks ago.
"And how long is it since you supported yourself in this way?" asked the District Attorney.
"For a few weeks only. Formerly," she said, making a slight inclination in the direction of the prisoner's counsel, "I lived in the household of Mr. Orcutt, where I occupied the position of assistant to the lady who looks after his domestic affairs." And her eye met the lawyer's with a look of pride that made him inwardly cringe, though not even the jealous glance of the prisoner could detect that an eyelash quivered or a flicker disturbed the studied serenity of his gaze.
The District Attorney opened his lips as if to pursue this topic, but, meeting his opponent's eye, concluded to waive further preliminaries and proceed at once to the more serious part of the examination.
"Miss Dare," said he, "will you look at the prisoner and tell us if you have any acquaintance with him?"
Slowly she prepared to reply; slowly she turned her head and let her glance traverse that vast crowd till it settled upon her former lover. The look which passed like lightning across her face as she encountered his gaze fixed for the first time steadily upon her own, no one in that assemblage ever forgot.
"Yes," she returned, quietly, but in a tone that made Mansell quiver and look away, despite his iron self-command; "I know him."
"Will you be kind enough to say how long you have known him and where it was you first made his acquaintance?"
"I met him first in Buffalo some four months since," was the steady reply. "He was calling at a friend's house where I was staying."
"Did you at that time know of his relation to your townswoman, Mrs. Clemmens?"
"No, sir. It was not till I had seen him several times that I learned he had any connections in Sibley."
"Miss Dare, you will excuse me, but it is highly desirable for the court to know if the prisoner ever paid his addresses to you?"
The deep, almost agonizing blush that colored her white cheek answered as truly as the slow "Yes," that struggled painfully to her lips.
"And – excuse me again, Miss Dare – did he propose marriage to you?"
"He did."
"Did you accept him?"
"I did not."
"Did you refuse him?"
"I refused to engage myself to him."
"Miss Dare, will you tell us when you left Buffalo?"
"On the nineteenth day of August last."
"Did the prisoner accompany you?"
"He did not."
"Upon what sort of terms did you part?"
"Good terms, sir."
"Do you mean friendly terms, or such as are held by a man and a woman between whom an attachment exists which, under favorable circumstances, may culminate in marriage?"
"The latter, sir, I think."
"Did you receive any letters from the prisoner after your return to Sibley?"
"Yes, sir."
"And did you answer them?"
"I did."
"Miss Dare, may I now ask what reasons you gave the prisoner for declining his offer – that is, if my friend does not object to the question?" added the District Attorney, turning with courtesy toward Mr. Orcutt.
The latter, who had started to his feet, bowed composedly and prepared to resume his seat.
"I desire to put nothing in the way of your eliciting the whole truth concerning this matter," was his quiet, if somewhat constrained, response.
Mr. Ferris at once turned back to Miss Dare.
"You will, then, answer," he said.
Imogene lifted her head and complied.
"I told him," she declared, with thrilling distinctness, "that he was in no condition to marry. I am by nature an ambitious woman, and, not having suffered at that time, thought more of my position before the world than of what constitutes the worth and dignity of a man."
No one who heard these words could doubt they were addressed to the prisoner. Haughtily as she held herself, there was a deprecatory humility in her tone that neither judge nor jury could have elicited from her. Naturally many eyes turned in the direction of the prisoner. They saw two white faces before them, that of the accused and that of his counsel, who sat near him. But the pallor of the one was of scorn, and that of the other – Well, no one who knew the relations of Mr. Orcutt to the witness could wonder that the renowned lawyer shrank from hearing the woman he loved confess her partiality for another man.
Mr. Ferris, who understood the situation as well as any one, but who had passed the point where sympathy could interfere with his action, showed a disposition to press his advantage.