CHAPTER IX
A CLUE AND A CONFERENCE
A week had elapsed since the happening of the events related in the lastchapter, and I sat with Littell and Van Bult in one of the private roomsof a quiet downtown restaurant, where we had been lunching together bymy invitation.
For some time past I had seen little or nothing of these two friends.Van Bult had been off again somewhere, and I had been too busy to lookup Littell, for my whole time and attention had been given toinvestigation of the White case: but now being at the end of myresources I had summoned them to this gathering that I might advise withthem.
I must advise with somebody, and it seemed to me that these two were themost available. They were necessarily interested in the case and more orless familiar with the facts, and besides they were both cleverer thanthe average of men, while one of them at least was an experienced andastute lawyer.
I felt, therefore, or perhaps only hoped, that where Miles and myselfhad come to a halt in our work from sheer inability to make furtherprogress, these two, building on what we had done, and fresh and new tothe subject, might supplement our efforts and carry them on to somedefinite result.
During the preceding week, the detective and myself had not been idlenor had we worked altogether to no purpose, for we had secured one bitof additional evidence that seemed to open a new field forinvestigation, and it was this new matter with the other occurrencesthat led up to it that I was now submitting to my friends.
The day after our interview with Mrs. Bunce, which resulted in thefinding of the missing money, Miles and I had resumed our work upon thecase, but from a new standpoint. After a consultation we had concluded,as he had suggested, that we must look for the motive of the crime insome object less commonplace than theft.
To assume that White had been murdered for the money and that it hadbeen abandoned almost immediately afterwards and without any apparentoccasion, was too unlikely to be tenable. To find another motive for thecrime, however, seemed next to impossible. If the object of the murdererwas not theft, then he must have had a personal interest to subserve inthe removal of White: but such an assumption involved the recognition ofsome grave secret in the life of White and anything of that kind wasinconsistent with the life and habits of the man. I had known him longand intimately, and knew no one whom I thought in character less deviousor secretive. His life had been that of any other idle man of meansabout town. It had not even had a serious side to it that I had everobserved, and I could not conceive of his having had an enemy who couldcherish animosity, much less a design upon his life.
Under these circumstances, as may be understood, it was with faint hopethat I undertook the new line of work; but there was no alternative,for, as Miles had said, if I was right in my belief in Winters'sinnocence, there must have existed some mystery in White's life toexplain his death, and if we were to save Winters, we must discover it.
Yielding to the force of this argument, therefore, I had sought anotherinterview with Benton and probed him upon every subject that could throwany light upon White's private life or associations: but further thansome additional details of the intimacy with Belle Stanton, I learned,as I had anticipated, nothing of any importance. If White had eitherenemies or secrets Benton either had no knowledge of them or wasunwilling to disclose it.
In the meanwhile the detective had sought Belle Stanton and interrogatedher to the same end, but with no better success. She talked very freelyon the subject and apparently told all she knew, but this was little ornothing of importance. She admitted, however that for some time past,White had seemed worried and nervous, which condition had been steadilygetting worse. He had also, she said, complained of not sleeping andbeing worried about some person or something, but he had never mentionedin her hearing any name.
Failing thus with both Benton and Miss Stanton, the only two persons whoseemed likely to know anything of White's private life, we next hadrecourse to inanimate sources. By the detective's advice, we determinedto make an exhaustive search of his rooms. The authorities had, ofcourse, already done this, but it was just possible something had beenoverlooked.
In pursuance of this plan we had visited the premises, and thoroughlyexamined everything. I had even gone through the pockets of his clotheswhile Miles had ransacked every drawer, vase, and other receptacle thatby any chance might contain anything. It had all, nevertheless, provedin vain, and we were about abandoning the work, when Miles picked up apiece of paper, a corner of which had been barely visible, protrudingfrom under the writing desk. He glanced at it, at first indifferently,then with a closer interest, and at last took it to the window andscrutinized it under the light, while I, too impatient to wait on him,studied it at the same time over his shoulder.
That which he had found was a torn bit of a letter without eitheraddress or signature, but the latter was unnecessary as I recognized thehandwriting of White. The paper was about the following shape, andcontained these broken words and sentences:
Handwritten note]
We turned the sheet over, but the reverse side was blank: evidently theletter had been concluded on another page, if it were ever concluded,and all else was missing.
We renewed our search, peering into every nook and corner of the roomand moving the furniture, but there was nothing more. Probably theother pieces had been thrown into the waste-paper basket which stoodbeside the desk, and this scrap, by a lucky chance, had escaped itsdestination.
We sent for the landlady and interrogated her as to the disposition madeof the sweepings of the room. She in turn sought the hired girl, whoremembered "fixing up the room" and emptying the basket the morningbefore White's death, but she had put the sweepings in the ash-can andthey had long since been removed in the usual way.
We deemed it of the greatest importance that we find the other pieces ofthe letter if possible, and to that end Miles had sought out the ash-manfor the district, and had the dump where he unloaded his cart thoroughlysearched for them, but in vain. The rest of the letter was hopelesslylost.
In it we both believed was contained a clue to the mystery we weretrying so hard to unravel, but we were compelled to accept theinevitable in this instance and make the most of what we had secured. Itwas a good deal, too, though very incomplete. It might not trace thecrime to any particular individual, but at least it showed a secret inthe life of the murdered man that affected him deeply and in whichanother had an intimate share, and it showed, further, that all was notin accord between the two. There had evidently been a bitter contestgoing on, for how long or what about was not disclosed, but it hadexisted and should be explained.
I had tried to complete the lines that were mutilated, but some of themwere so incomplete and susceptible of so many different interpretationsthat the results were not sufficiently reliable to be useful or safe towork upon. I did, however, satisfy myself that the substance of thefirst seven lines had been something like the following (the words inparentheses are supplied):
"longer, my conscience will not" (let) "me rest--I must, I will" (do) (so-) "mething about it in" (spite of) or (stead of) or (place of) "you;--If you will" (oppose) or (thwart) or (not help) "me, then I will" (ask some one) or (appeal to some one) or (confide in some one) or (tell some one) "else--We" (have been together in) "all this"
Further than this it was useless to try to fill in the broken sentences.
This much was all we had accomplished and the situation was critical.With the day set for the trial less than a week distant, I had not onlyfailed to find definite evidence that could direct attention to any oneelse than the prisoner, but so far had even failed to secure theservices of a lawyer to defend him. There were plenty to be had amongthose who made a specialty of criminal practice, but I did not considersuch qualified for the service: the best of them were so well known inthat capacity that their methods and arguments were received withincredulity by the average juror: while of those who were engaged incivil practice, I found none of such parts as I
sought inclined to takethe case.
Whoever defended Winters would have an uphill fight to make. Theprosecution would be supported by the press and by public sentiment andthe jurors would probably take their seats in the box with everydisposition to deal fairly by the prisoner, but with an underlyingconviction that he was guilty and the trial but a legal formality.
To successfully combat such odds, to even command a serious hearing,would require not only a lawyer of ability and standing, but a manpossessed of the quality of personal magnetism: for it is this that ismost potent in saving desperate cases. To find that man, however, seemednext to hopeless.
Such, then, was the status of things at the hour of which I write, whenhaving submitted the facts and the difficulties, together with mytheories of the case, to my companions, I sat waiting expectantly forsome expression from them on the subject: but there ensued onlydiscouraging silence. Littell sat tipped back in his chair, smiling alittle to himself and reflectively watching the smoke curl slowly upfrom the cigar held daintily between his fingers: while Van Bult,leaning forward, contemplated the tips of his shoes, elevated apparentlyfor the purpose, and whistled a plaintive tune.
My position was not an agreeable one. I felt my friends were trying todetermine in their own minds just how best to deal with a man whom theyconsidered suffering from temporary mental aberration, and as I waitedfor the decision, the silence seemed to grow thick around thatmelancholy ditty of Van Bult's. At last, unable longer to stand it, Isaid with sharp interrogation: "Well!"
It had the desired effect, and relieved the situation, at least for me.Van Bult ceased whistling and Littell put his cigar back in his mouthand both looked at me.
"I really don't see, Dallas," Van Bult said at length, "why you arebothering yourself about this man's fate. It cannot differ so much frommany other cases you have come in contact with."
"It does, though," I answered, "because Winters and I are old friends,were college boys together, because by White's will I am left in chargeof all the means he has, and above all, because I don't believe himguilty."
"Those are good reasons," he replied, in a more serious tone,"particularly the last one, and if I can help you, I will do so."
Then he turned to Littell and asked him if he also thought Winters wasinnocent.
"I am inclined to think so," Littell answered thoughtfully.
My pulse jumped with delight, but again subsided at Van Bult'sdiscouraging response.
"Well, I confess," he said, "I cannot quite take that view of it: itseems to me that Dallas has been creating doubts out of his own innerconsciousness, but I am willing to assume he is correct for the sake ofhis case, as he has given it more consideration than I have: and nowwhat is to be done?"
"There is unfortunately little time for anything at this late hour," Ireplied, "except to try and find the right lawyer, and put him inpossession of what facts and materials we have for the defence. We canhardly expect," I continued, "to secure any important additionaltestimony within the few days that remain to us before the trial."
Van Bult studied over my words and then, looking from Littell to me,said:
"You say you have tried and failed to secure such a lawyer as you deemnecessary: one with reputation, ability, and personal magnetism, Ithink you said."
"Yes," I acquiesced, "that is what is needed."
"If that is all," he then continued, with an amused twinkle in his eye,"it seems to me we have not far to go for our man!" and he put his handsignificantly on Littell's shoulder. "Here he is," he said, "ready madeto hand. A lawyer possessing all your requirements, and with faith inthe innocence of the client besides!"
I accepted the suggestion with joy, and was only surprised that it hadnot occurred to me, but Littell was evidently taken aback and none toowell pleased.
"No, no! Van, it cannot be," he said, "it is impossible," and he got upand walked to the window and stood looking out with his back to us.
"You know, Dick," he continued, "that I have not practised in ten years,and I am getting old and rusty, and unfit for such a greatresponsibility: you are the proper man, not I, and you had better resignfrom the District Attorney's office and take the case yourself."
"I cannot," I answered. "Such a proceeding would be unprecedented, andbesides I am too deeply interested in the case to handle it asdispassionately as is necessary."
Van Bult, who had been listening to our colloquy with evident amusement,here interrupted:
"If I were a lawyer, I would take it myself," he said; "but as I am not,it remains for one of you to do so, and as you cannot agree about it, Iam going to cast the deciding vote. Will you both consent to abide by mydecision?"
There was no other alternative that I could perceive, and much as Ifeared his choice might fall upon me, I said I would do so.
"And you, Littell," he asked. The latter hesitated and resumed his seatbefore he answered, but finally assented. Then said Van Bult: "I chooseLittell."
I gave a sigh of relief. Winters's case was at last entrusted to goodhands and the wisdom of my judgment in confiding in my friends wasconfirmed, but when my first selfish feeling of satisfaction had passed,I realized we were asking a great deal of Littell. He was no longer ayoung man and, as I knew, all his tastes and feelings must revoltagainst the nature of the task we had put upon him, and I looked overwith some sense of regret for my action, but he sat there serenelysmoking his cigar, and sipping his brandy as though nothing unusual hadoccurred. With his never-failing philosophy he had already resignedhimself to the inevitable and whatever misgivings he may have had, theywere evidently not going to affect his course from then on.
I felt like a man from whom a great load had been lifted. Not only had Ifound some one to share the burden I had been staggering under for twoweeks and which was daily growing heavier, but it was that one in whombefore all others I placed the greatest confidence.
It was Littell who recalled me from my abstraction to the considerationof the serious business we had in hand. Looking at his watch, he said:
"It is four o'clock and I am ready to begin my work. You, Van!" hecontinued, "cannot be of any assistance just now, but Dick can take meto my client, for I want to talk with him and hear his story."
"Do you wish to go now?" I asked.
"There is no time to be lost and as you know I have no other seriousduties to occupy me," he answered.
Van Bult gazed at him with evident appreciation of the sacrifice he wasmaking.
"It is good of you, Littell," he said, "and I fancy the world will thinknone the less of you for the sacrifice you are making for a poor fellowwho is nothing to you."
Littell shook his head impatiently; he was never a man who likedcompliments.
"I have undertaken it, and that is all there is to it," he said.
"Well," Van Bult replied, "we won't say anything more about it, butbefore I leave you, let me offer a suggestion that does not seem to haveoccurred to Dallas with all his theorizing."
"What is that?" I asked.
"Only that it seems to me if you be right in your opinion that Wintersis not guilty, and the criminal some person who was involved in troublewith White or bore ill-will to him, that in such case the most likelyperson from whom to seek information should be Belle Stanton."
He paused, but seeing that we were expectantly waiting for him to go on,continued:
"She must know what person, if any, was likely to have left the ulsterat her house, that is if she did not do so herself. She probably had akey to White's room. If he had a secret she more likely than any oneelse shared it with him; and if his affections for her were waning orstraying, she could well have felt both the spirit of hate and revenge.'Hell knows no fury like a woman scorned,'" he finished, impressively.
"All you say is true," I answered, "and most of the arguments you haveadvanced occurred to me, and for that reason, as I have told you, I hadMiles interrogate her closely, and you know the result; he believes sheknows nothing of the murder."
"I b
elieve she does, nevertheless," he replied.
"You are wrong, Van," Littell put in, "for, even admitting the force ofyour arguments, the woman must have been mad to have taken the ulsterhome with her after the deed; she would sooner have dropped it on thestreet than have left such tell-tale evidence on her own premises."
Van Bult shrugged his shoulders as he replied:
"You men overreach yourselves with your refinements of reasoning, andattribute to criminals red-handed from crime the same cleverness thatyou display yourselves when calmly analyzing their acts. A woman who hasjust committed a murder is apt to lose her mental balance and to do manyirresponsible things. I do not mean to say, however," he continued,"that she is guilty, for it still looks to me as though Winters were,but if you and Dallas are right in your belief in his innocence, thenyou will find that it is through that woman you must trace the criminal.If White did not leave the ulster at her house, she did or knows whodid!" and giving us no time to argue further with him, he left us.
Littell and myself, without continuing the discussion, then took our wayto the Tombs to see Winters. It was not a pleasant visit to make and Iwould willingly have escaped it, but I had to comply with Littell'swish.
When we reached the building and had been admitted, I introduced mycompanion to the warden, explaining that he was to defend Winters. Thewarden looked him over with interest, saying as he shook hands:
"Not an easy job of yours, I fear, sir"; and then addressing me: "Youwill not find the prisoner looking any better since your last visit."
"Is he any worse than he was?" I inquired; "for I had expected to findhim improved by his rest and confinement."
"Yes," he replied; "he is in a bad way, I fear."
When Winters made his appearance, I appreciated the meaning of thewarden's statements. He had grown pale and thinner since his confinementand seemed weaker. Of course the immediate effects of dissipation haddisappeared, but behind them they had left the evidence of a man reallyill. He recognized me with evident pleasure, but showed little interestin Littell even after I had explained the occasion of his visit.
"It is no use," he said, "I can see by the papers that everybody thinksI am guilty."
"But I don't!" said Littell promptly. "I feel sure you are not guiltyand that is why I am going to defend you."
The strong confident tones of Littell acted like a tonic on the man. Hebraced up and seemed to shake off much of his despondency.
"And you have read all about it too?" he asked.
"Yes," Littell said, "and I am here now to hear the truth about it fromyou, so tell me everything."
Winters then repeated carefully his whole story as he had told it to me.It differed in no particular from the previous recital, and satisfied memore than ever of his innocence.
Littell listened closely and when he had finished asked him, in aconversational way, many questions about details; questions that seemednatural and innocent in themselves, and which were promptly and freelyanswered, but questions that, I felt, would have confounded and trippedup a guilty man or an untruthful one.
When the interview was concluded and we were on our way uptown, Littellsaid to me:
"That man is starving for hope and sympathy, for freedom and sunlight.He is innocent, too, Dick! and we must save him."
I concurred heartily in his opinion; "And what further can I do to helpyou?" I asked.
"Nothing more just now, I think," he answered. "There is too little timeleft for you to take up any new lines of investigation. We will devoteourselves to thoroughly digesting and mastering the facts we have sothat we may make the most of them at the trial."
I assented, and with my arm locked in his we walked the rest of our wayengaged in earnest discussion of the defence.
A Master Hand: The Story of a Crime Page 9
