CHAPTER XXXV
There had been a crowd on the day of Frieda's and young Kraus'testimony, but on Monday morning there was a mob. The road as well asthe open space before the Courthouse was as solid a mass of automobilesas the police would permit, and within, even the wide staircase waspacked with people, many from New York City, waving cards and demandingentrance to the Court-room, or at least the freedom to breathe.
The sheriff and his assistants, soon after the doors were opened,succeeded in forming a lane, and dragged the women reporters to theupper landing. They found the young men at their tables, cool,imperturbable, having entered through the library at the back of theCourt-room. All doors were closed before ten o'clock, and the crowdwithout, save only the few that were fortunate enough to have come earlyand obtain a vantage point against the glass, gradually dwindled away,to renew the assault after luncheon. It was not only the brilliantwinter day that had enticed the curious over from New York, but therumour that Mrs. Balfame would take the stand.
The morning droned along peacefully. Cummack and several others,including Mr. Mott, were recalled and questioned further. Rush made nointerruptions whatever. The Judge yawned behind his hand. The womenreporters whispered to one another that Mrs. Balfame looked lovelierthan ever--only different, somehow. Even Mr. Broderick looked at heruneasily once or twice and confided to Mr. Wagstaff that he believed sheand Rush had something up their sleeves; she no longer looked like amarble effigy of herself, but like a woman who was sure of getting whatshe wanted--much too sure. Her cheeks were almost pink. That was asclose as he could get to the upheavals and revolutions that had takenplace in Mrs. Balfame of Elsinore; and their causes.
Immediately after luncheon, Rush showed the jury Defendant's Exhibit A:the suitcase that Mrs. Balfame had packed for her husband after histelephone message from the house of Mr. Cummack. He demonstrated that itmust have been packed by a firm hand guided by a clear head, a head asfar as possible from that cyclonic condition technically known as"brainstorm." When he read them the explicit directions Mrs. Balfame hadwritten for the velvet handbag her generous husband had offered to bringfrom Albany, the jury craned its neck and puckered its brows. Thissuitcase had been examined on the night of the crime by police andreporters, the cynical men of the press characterising it later as agrand piece of bluff. But it looked very convincing in a court-room, andits innocent appeal was thrown into high relief by the indisputable factthat the murder had been committed at least half an hour later.
On the other hand, there was reason to believe that Mrs. Balfame haddeliberately planned the shooting and in that case it was quite naturalfor her to prepare something in the nature of an alibi--that is, if awoman, and an amateur in crime, could exercise so much foresight. Thejury looked at the defendant out of the corner of its eye. Well, she, atleast, looked cool enough for anything.
Then came the great moment for which the spectators had braveddiscomfort, indignities, and even hunger. The counsel for the defenceasked Mrs. Balfame to take the stand.
Everybody in the court-room save the Judge, the jury, and the cool youngreporters half rose as she walked rapidly behind the jury-box, mountedthe stand, took the oath, bowed to the Court and arranged herself, withher usual dignified aloofness, in the witness-chair. She felt but aslight quiver of the nerves, no apprehension whatever. She knew herstory too well to be disconcerted even by the sudden wasp-like assaultsof the district attorney, and she was sensible of the moral support ofpractically all the women in the room.
Rush asked her to tell her story in her own way to the jury, and for atime the district attorney permitted her to talk without interruption.Rush had warned her after the interview with the women reporters againstdelivering herself with too tripping a tongue, and his assistant hadspent several hours with her in rehearsal of certain improvements upon atoo perfect style. In consequence, she told a clear coherent story, inthe simplest manner possible, with little dramatic breaks or hesitationsnow and again, but with nothing stronger than a quaver in her sweetshallow voice. When she had reached the episode of the filter and hadexplained to the inquisitive district attorney why she had made nomention at the coroner's inquest of the somewhat complicated episode ofwhich it was the pivot, so to speak, she gave the same credibleexplanation the newspaper women had already offered to the public; andthen, quite unexpectedly, she related the story of Frieda's attempt toblackmail her, and her indignant refusal to give the creature a dollar.Mr. Gore shouted in vain. The Judge ordered him to keep quiet andpermitted the defendant to tell the story in her own way.
Mrs. Balfame apologised to the jury for relating this incident out oforder, and then went on with her quiet plausible story. Her reason fornot running out at once was simplicity itself. She must have been in thekitchen when the shot was fired; she had not made a point of regulatingher movements by the clock as some of the witnesses for the prosecutionappeared to have done, so that she was quite unable to give the jurypositive information upon the subject of the exact number of minutes shehad remained in the kitchen. She had washed and put away the glass, ofcourse; she was a very methodical woman. Then she had gone upstairs,leisurely, and it was not until she was in her bedroom that she becameaware of some sort of excitement out in the Avenue. Even that conveyednothing to her, for it was Saturday night--she curled her fastidiouslip. But when she heard voices directly under her window, inside thegrounds, she threw it open at once and asked what had happened. Then ofcourse she ran downstairs and out to her husband. That was all.
Even the district attorney was not able to interject a hint of thelemonade story, and so, naturally, she ignored it.
"Gemima!" whispered Mr. Broderick to his neighbour, "but she is awonder! I never heard it better done, and I've seen some of the bossliars on the stand. She looks like an angel on toast, a poor, sweet,patient, martyr angel. But I'll bet five dollars to a nickel that shewas just about three degrees too plausible for that jury. If she didn'tdo it, who did? That's what they'll ask. And who else wanted him out ofthe way? Have you given any thought to that proposition?" His voice wasalmost as steady as his keen grey eyes, and he looked straight into thewise and weary orbs of a brilliant but too inabstinent member of thecrack reporter regiment who had been missing for several days. The manraised his sagging shoulders and dropped them listlessly. Then his heavyeyes were invaded by a sudden gleam.
"Say," he whispered, "that Rush is a good-looking chap--and she--I don'tlike those ice-boxes myself, but some men do. It's crossed my mind morethan once to-day that he's got something on his--what's the matter?"
"For God's sake, hush!" Broderick's low voice was savage, his facewhite. "They're always likely to say that about a young lawyer when hisclient is handsome enough and their imaginations are excited by amysterious murder case. He's a friend of mine, and I don't want him toget into trouble. He might not be able to prove an alibi. But I know hedidn't do it because I happen to know that he is in love with anotherwoman. I was in the same trolley with them yesterday when they came backfrom the woods. There was no mistaking how the land lay."
"Oh! Just so!" The other man's eyes were glittering. He looked like ahunter glancing down his gun-barrel. "I see he _is_ a friend of yoursand you've got his defence pat--well, I'm not going to bother my poorhead until Mrs. B. is acquitted or convicted. Ta! Ta!" And he slidgently to the floor, laid his head against the infuriated Broderick'sknee and went to sleep.
"I say," whispered Wagstaff, "she almost involved young Kraus, allright. He's never been quite so close to the bull's-eye before. The veryfact that she didn't trump up a yarn--or Rush wouldn't let her--that shesaw him when she opened the door, or that he had turned the handle, isone for her and one on him."
The Judge, who had taken a few moments' rest, re-entered, andconversation ceased. Conrad and Frieda were called in rebuttal, andencouraged to fix the time of Mrs. Balfame's departure and return asaccurately as might be. Frieda asserted that Mrs. Balfame, after closingthe outer door, had not remained below-stairs for more than threemin
utes, and Conrad declared that her exit must have been made three orfour before Mr. Mott left Miss Lacke's. Of course--with quiet scorn--hehad not looked at his watch. How could he in the dark? As he did notsmoke he had no matches in his pocket.
That closed the day's session. The jury filed out, and no man could readaught in their weather-beaten faces save the conviction that theParadise City Hotel was a haven of delights after a long day in the box,and they were quite equal to the feat of enjoying the dinner servedthere, with minds barren of the grim purpose behind this luxurious week.
Mrs. Balfame: A Novel Page 35
