Produced by Charles Keller
WITHIN THE LAW
From The Play Of Bayard Veiller
By Marvin Dana
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. The Panel of Light II. A Cheerful Prodigal III. Only Three Years IV. Kisses and Kleptomania V. The Victim of the Law VI. Inferno VII. Within the Law VIII. A Tip from Headquarters X. A Legal Document X. Marked Money XI. The Thief XII. A Bridegroom Spurned XIII. The Advent of Griggs XIV. A Wedding Announcement XV. Aftermath of Tragedy XVI. Burke Plots XVII. Outside the Law XVIII. The Noiseless Death XIX. Within the Toils XX. Who Shot Griggs? XXI. Aggie at Bay XXII. The Trap That Failed XXIII. The Confession XXIV. Anguish and Bliss
CHAPTER I. THE PANEL OF LIGHT
The lids of the girl's eyes lifted slowly, and she stared at the panelof light in the wall. Just at the outset, the act of seeing made not theleast impression on her numbed brain. For a long time she continued toregard the dim illumination in the wall with the same passive fixityof gaze. Apathy still lay upon her crushed spirit. In a vague way, sherealized her own inertness, and rested in it gratefully, subtly fearfullest she again arouse to the full horror of her plight. In a curioussubconscious fashion, she was striving to hold on to this deadnessof sensation, thus to win a little respite from the torture that hadexhausted her soul.
Of a sudden, her eyes noted the black lines that lay across the panelof light. And, in that instant, her spirit was quickened once again. Theclouds lifted from her brain. Vision was clear now. Understanding seizedthe full import of this hideous thing on which she looked.... For thepanel of light was a window, set high within a wall of stone. The rigidlines of black that crossed it were bars--prison bars. It was stilltrue, then: She was in a cell of the Tombs.
The girl, crouching miserably on the narrow bed, maintained her fixedwatching of the window--that window which was a symbol of her utterdespair. Again, agony wrenched within her. She did not weep: long agoshe had exhausted the relief of tears. She did not pace to and fro inthe comfort of physical movement with which the caged beast finds amocking imitation of liberty: long ago, her physical vigors had beendrained under stress of anguish. Now, she was well-nigh incapable of anybodily activity. There came not even so much as the feeblest moan fromher lips. The torment was far too racking for such futile fashion oflamentation. She merely sat there in a posture of collapse. To alloutward seeming, nerveless, emotionless, an abject creature. Eventhe eyes, which held so fixedly their gaze on the window, were quiteexpressionless. Over them lay a film, like that which veils the eyes ofsome dead thing. Only an occasional languid motion of the lids revealedthe life that remained.
So still the body. Within the soul, fury raged uncontrolled. For all thedesolate calm of outer seeming, the tragedy of her fate was being actedwith frightful vividness there in memory. In that dreadful remembrance,her spirit was rent asunder anew by realization of that which had becomeher portion.... It was then, as once again the horrible injustice of herfate racked consciousness with its tortures, that the seeds of revoltwere implanted in her heart. The thought of revenge gave to her thefirst meager gleam of comfort that had lightened her moods through manymiserable days and nights. Those seeds of revolt were to be nourishedwell, were to grow into their flower--a poison flower, developed throughthe three years of convict life to which the judge had sentenced her.
The girl was appalled by the mercilessness of a destiny that had sooutraged right. She was wholly innocent of having done any wrong. Shehad struggled through years of privation to keep herself clean andwholesome, worthy of those gentlefolk from whom she drew her blood.And earnest effort had ended at last under an overwhelmingaccusation--false, yet none the less fatal to her. This accusation,after soul-wearying delays, had culminated to-day in conviction. Thesentence of the court had been imposed upon her: that for three yearsshe should be imprisoned.... This, despite her innocence. She hadendured much--miserably much!--for honesty's sake. There wrought theirony of fate. She had endured bravely for honesty's sake. And the endof it all was shame unutterable. There was nought left her save a wilddream of revenge against the world that had martyrized her. "Vengeanceis mine. I will repay, saith the Lord."... The admonition could nottouch her now. Why should she care for the decrees of a God who hadabandoned her!
There had been nothing in the life of Mary Turner, before thecatastrophe came, to distinguish it from many another. Its mostsignificant details were of a sordid kind, familiar to poverty. Herfather had been an unsuccessful man, as success is esteemed by thisgeneration of Mammon-worshipers. He was a gentleman, but the trivialfact is of small avail to-day. He was of good birth, and he was thepossessor of an inherited competence. He had, as well, intelligence, butit was not of a financial sort.
So, little by little, his fortune became shrunken toward nothingness,by reason of injudicious investments. He married a charming woman, who,after a brief period of wedded happiness, gave her life to the birthof the single child of the union, Mary. Afterward, in his distress overthis loss, Ray Turner seemed even more incompetent for the management ofbusiness affairs. As the years passed, the daughter grew toward maturityin an experience of ever-increasing penury. Nevertheless, there was noactual want of the necessities of life, though always a woful lack ofits elegancies. The girl was in the high-school, when her father finallygave over his rather feeble effort of living. Between parent and child,the intimacy had been unusually close. At his death, the father left hera character well instructed in the excellent principles that had beenhis own. That was his sole legacy to her. Of worldly goods, not thevalue of a pin.
Yet, measured according to the stern standards of adversity, Mary wasfortunate. Almost at once, she procured a humble employment in theEmporium, the great department store owned by Edward Gilder. To besure, the wage was infinitesimal, while the toil was body-breakingsoul-breaking. Still, the pittance could be made to sustain life, andMary was blessed with both soul and body to sustain much. So she mergedherself in the army of workers--in the vast battalion of those that givetheir entire selves to a labor most stern and unremitting, and most illrewarded.
Mary, nevertheless, avoided the worst perils of her lot. She did notflinch under privation, but went her way through it, if not serenely, atleast without ever a thought of yielding to those temptations that beseta girl who is at once poor and charming. Fortunately for her, thosein closest authority over her were not so deeply smitten as to makeobligatory on her a choice between complaisance and loss of position.She knew of situations like that, the cul-de-sac of chastity, worsethan any devised by a Javert. In the store, such things were matters ofcourse. There is little innocence for the girl in the modern city.There can be none for the worker thrown into the storm-center of a greatcommercial activity, humming with vicious gossip, all alive withquips from the worldly wise. At the very outset of her employment, thesixteen-year-old girl learned that she might eke out the six dollarsweekly by trading on her personal attractiveness to those of theopposite sex. The idea was repugnant to her; not only from the maidenlyinstinct of purity, but also from the moral principles woven into hercharacter by the teachings of a father wise in most things, though afool in finance. Thus, she remained unsmirched, though well informed asto the verities of life. She preferred purity and penury, rather than aslight pampering of the body to be bought by its degradation. Among herfellows were some like herself; others, unlike. Of her own sort, in thissingle particular, were the two girls with whom she shared a cheap room.Their common decency in attitude toward the other sex was th
e uniquebond of union. In their association, she found no real companionship.Nevertheless, they were wholesome enough. Otherwise they wereilliterate, altogether uncongenial.
In such wise, through five dreary years, Mary Turner lived. Nine hoursdaily, she stood behind a counter. She spent her other waking hoursin obligatory menial labors: cooking her own scant meals over the gas;washing and ironing, for the sake of that neat appearance which wasrequired of her by those in authority at the Emporium--yet, moreespecially, necessary for her own self-respect. With a mind keen andearnest, she contrived some solace from reading and studying, sincethe free library gave her this opportunity. So, though engaged instultifying occupation through most of her hours, she was able to findfood for mental growth. Even, in the last year, she had reached a pointof development whereat she began to study seriously her own position inthe world's economy, to meditate on a method of bettering it. Under thisimpulse, hope mounted high in her heart. Ambition was born. By candidcomparison of herself with others about her, she realized the fact thatshe possessed an intelligence beyond the average. The training by herfather, too, had been of a superior kind. There was as well, at the backvaguely, the feeling of particular self-respect that belongs inevitablyto the possessor of good blood. Finally, she demurely enjoyed a modestappreciation of her own physical advantages. In short, she hadbeauty, brains and breeding. Three things of chief importance to anywoman--though there be many minds as to which may be chief among thethree.
I have said nothing specific thus far as to the outer being of MaryTurner--except as to filmed eyes and a huddled form. But, in a happiersituation, the girl were winning enough. Indeed, more! She was one ofthose that possess an harmonious beauty, with, too, the penetrant charmthat springs from the mind, with the added graces born of the spirit.Just now, as she sat, a figure of desolation, there on the bed inthe Tombs cell, it would have required a most analytical observer todetermine the actualities of her loveliness. Her form was disguised bythe droop of exhaustion. Her complexion showed the pallor of sorrowfulvigils. Her face was no more than a mask of misery. Yet, the shrewdobserver, if a lover of beauty, might have found much for delight, evendespite the concealment imposed by her present condition. Thus, thestormy glory of her dark hair, great masses that ran a riot of shiningripples and waves. And the straight line of the nose, not too thin, yetfine enough for the rapture of a Praxiteles. And the pink daintiness ofthe ear-tips, which peered warmly from beneath the pall of tresses. Onecould know nothing accurately of the complexion now. But it were easy toguess that in happier places it would show of a purity to entice, with agentle blooming of roses in the cheeks. Even in this hour of unmitigatedevil, the lips revealed a curving beauty of red--not quite crimson,though near enough for the word; not quite scarlet either; only, a redgently enchanting, which turned one's thoughts toward tenderness--witha hint of desire. It was, too, a generous mouth, not too large; still,happily, not so small as those modeled by Watteau. It wasaltogether winsome--more, it was generous and true, desirable forkisses--yes!--more desirable for strength and for faith.
Like every intelligent woman, Mary had taken the trouble to reinforcethe worth of her physical attractiveness. The instinct of sex wasstrong in her, as it must be in every normal woman, since that appeal isnature's law. She kept herself supple and svelte by many exercises, atwhich her companions in the chamber scoffed, with the prudent warningthat more work must mean more appetite. With arms still aching fromthe lifting of heavy bolts of cloth to and fro from the shelves, shenevertheless was at pains nightly to brush with the appointed twohundred strokes the thick masses of her hair. Even here, in the sordiddesolation of the cell, the lustrous sheen witnessed the fidelity ofher care. So, in each detail of her, the keen observer might have foundadequate reason for admiration. There was the delicacy of the hands,with fingers tapering, with nails perfectly shaped, neither too dullnor too shining. And there were, too, finally, the trimly shod feet, setrather primly on the floor, small, and arched like those of a SpanishInfanta. In truth, Mary Turner showed the possibilities at least, if notjust now the realities, of a very beautiful woman.
Naturally, in this period of grief, the girl's mind had no concern withsuch external merits over which once she had modestly exulted. Allher present energies were set to precise recollection of the ghastlyexperience into which she had been thrust.
In its outline, the event had been tragically simple.
There had been thefts in the store. They had been traced eventually to acertain department, that in which Mary worked. The detective was alert.Some valuable silks were missed. Search followed immediately. The goodswere found in Mary's locker. That was enough. She was charged with thetheft. She protested innocence--only to be laughed at in derision byher accusers. Every thief declares innocence. Mr. Gilder himself wasemphatic against her. The thieving had been long continued. An examplemust be made. The girl was arrested.
The crowded condition of the court calendar kept her for three months inthe Tombs, awaiting trial. She was quite friendless. To the world, shewas only a thief in duress. At the last, the trial was very short. Herlawyer was merely an unfledged practitioner assigned to her defense asa formality of the court. This novice in his profession was so gratefulfor the first recognition ever afforded him that he rather assisted thanotherwise the District Attorney in the prosecution of the case.
At the end, twelve good men and true rendered a verdict of guiltyagainst the shuddering girl in the prisoner's dock.
So simple the history of Mary Turner's trial.... The sentence of thejudge was lenient--only three years!
Within the Law: From the Play of Bayard Veiller Page 1
