Quinton did not answer. Ruth understood that he must have known his testimony would lay him open to this attack, must have hardened himself to endure it. He held his tongue and his composure; and Mr. Pettingill said shrewdly: ‘I judge you had some doubts about it yourself, hiding it away in the attic.’ But Quinton held his silence, and the big man asked: ‘Don’t you have spring house cleaning at your house, Mr. Quinton?’
‘My mother used to go over everything with a fine-tooth comb, but she‘s dead. The attic hasn’t been touched since she died.’
‘Well, I don’t hold much with house cleaning myself,’ Mr. Pettingill agreed. ‘Anyway, far as you know, no one touched the hamper, or put anything in it, from the time you stole it out of Leick’s shed till the time you went and got it.’
‘I’m sure no one even saw it,’ Quinton repeated.
‘So!’ the other assented. ‘Now, Mr. Quinton, about that bottle you found behind the baseboard in the Berent house in Bar Harbor, you wrapped a handkerchief around your hand before you touched it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘So I wouldn’t spoil any fingerprints there might be on it.’
‘And so you wouldn’t get your own fingerprints on it?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Well now, if you could handle the bottle that way and not leave any marks on it, then whoever put it in behind the baseboard could have done the same thing, couldn’t they?’
Quinton hesitated. ‘If they thought of it.’
‘Anybody that didn’t want their fingerprints on it would likely think of it, wouldn’t they?’
‘They might.’
‘And if they did, their fingerprints wouldn’t show, would they? And whoever’s fingerprints were on it before it was put behind the baseboard would still be there, wouldn’t they?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Put it this way,’ Mr. Pettingill suggested. ‘Just for instance, suppose that bottle belonged to Mrs. Ruth Harland, so’s her fingerprints were naturally on it, and then supposing Ellen wrapped a handkerchief around her hand and picked up the bottle and went and hid it, then the bottle would still have Ruth Hear-land’s fingerprints on it, but it wouldn’t have Ellen’s. That right?’
Quinton’s lips were tight. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Well, you’re a pretty good supposer,’ Mr. Pettingill said cheerfully. ‘Now, Brother Quinton, about stealing the hamper. I sh’d judge you’re telling the truth about that. Nobody’d own up to a thing like that only if it was the truth. But there’s one place where you left out something. I don’t know what it was you left out, but we want to find out all we can about this business. The more truth comes out, the better we like it. So here’s the point. You put the hamper away in your attic, and for nigh on to two years, far as you know, there it stayed. You didn’t go up and look at it, to remind you of Mrs. Harland; didn’t do anything like that. And then all of a sudden, you took Deputy Hatch and your secretary, and rushed off and got that hamper, and carried it clear over to Augusta and gave it to Mr. Catterson. Now, Mr. Quinton, why did you do that?’
Quinton said readily: ‘Because I received information that Mrs. Harland had been poisoned, and I thought the hamper might contain some evidence one way or the other.’
‘Well, now we’re getting somewhere. Go on. Tell us about that information. Where did it come from?’
Ruth realized that her hands under the edge of the table were so tightly clenched that the nails hurt her palms. She tried to relax, and Quinton said: ‘I received a letter.’
‘Got it with you?’
‘Right here.’ Quinton produced from his pocket a sealed envelope; and Mr. Pettingill took it and examined it, turning it in his hands.
‘Your Honor,’ he said then, ‘maybe I’m a little out of order. This is sealed and it bears certain signatures across the flap. Maybe Mr. Quinton intends to put this letter in evidence later?’ His tone was an inquiry addressed to Quinton.
‘I intend to offer it,’ Quinton agreed, ‘after the groundwork has been properly laid.’
‘Well now,’ Mr. Pettingill declared, ‘I want to let you put in your case your own way. Maybe this isn’t the right time. I don’t want to push you. What say if His Honor and you and me take a minute to talk it over?’
Judge Andrus interposed. ‘Court will recess for fifteen minutes,’ he directed; and as the jury filed out he called Mr. Pettingill to the bench, and Quinton too. They followed him out of the courtroom, and Attorney General Shumate went to join them in the judge’s chambers.
– V –
That recess, while Pettingill and Quinton and the Attorney General were closeted with Judge Andrus, lasted for thirty-five minutes instead of fifteen. Ruth stayed seated at the counsel table, Harland beside her, Deputy Hatch somnolent in his chair at her back; and behind her, waves of whispering ran along the packed benches where the spectators sat. Ruth might have found the waiting more bitter than she did but for the fact that Harland needed her reassurance. He mopped his damp brow, constantly shifting his position; and she wished to take him in her arms, to bring him peace. Since with so many eyes upon them she could not even touch his hand, she whispered her endearments, leaning toward him, murmuring:
‘Darling, pretend we’re just talking about the case, but I do love you so!’
He said helplessly: ‘What do you suppose is in that letter?’
‘Hush, my dear! Don’t torment yourself. Look at me, into my eyes; feel me loving you. This will all be over, soon, and we can be happy again.’ And to distract him she said: ‘Then we’ll go back to the river, as we’d planned, buy that land we liked so much. We’ll make a world of our own there, Dick.’
‘It’s too late to go this year.’
‘It’s never too late, darling. We’ll stay till snow flies, till the river freezes. We’ll get a crew of men to work there all winter. We’ll clear the ground and level it, and transplant some trees, and plant lawns and flowers and shrubs, and build a house. There’ll be so much to do, years of work and planning. We’ll start as soon as this is over.’
He said wretchedly: ‘We don’t know how this is going to come out!’
‘Of course we do. It’s all mumbo-jumbo, darling; but two or three days will see the end of it.’
She poured her own strength into him, winning him at last to some composure; and presently Mr. Pettingill came back to them.
‘Smile,’ he directed in a low tone. Ruth saw agitation in his eyes. ‘Look happy while I’m talking to you.’ Ruth obeyed, and Harland tried to. ‘Ellen wrote the letter all right,’ Pettingill told them. ‘She says in it that you’d tried to poison her twice before, once with apple pie at Bar Harbor after Mr. Harland’s brother was drowned, and once with curry in Boston; and she says she expects you’ll try again, and that if she dies and you marry Mr. Harland, Quinton can be sure you killed her.’
Ruth held her meaningless smile, looking at Harland. ‘Those were the two times she was sick,’ she reminded him. He nodded, unable to speak. Quinton and Mr. Shumate returned to their table; and Pettingill chuckled — for the benefit of whoever might be watching.
‘I can keep the letter out,’ he suggested. ‘It’s not admissible as evidence. The judge will exclude it if I ask him to.’
Harland whispered: ‘For God’s sake, yes, do that!’
But Ruth said: ‘No. Whatever she says, it isn’t true, and we’re not afraid of lies.’ She touched Harland’s hand. ‘It’s all right, darling! Please.’
He met her eyes, turned after a moment to the lawyer. ‘She’s right, of course,’ he agreed, more steadily. ‘I can’t think straight, but she always sees the truth. We’ll do what she says.’
The jury filed back to their places, and Judge Andrus returned to the bench. ‘All right,’ Mr. Pettingill assented, doubt in his tones. ‘I’ll go ahead. But this is going to be bad. It’ll hurt.’ Quinton once more took his place on the stand, and the big man rose to face him.
> ‘Now, Mr. Quinton,’ he said, ‘you were telling us that you received a certain letter. Has anyone besides you read it, up to now?’
‘No.’
‘Tell the jury what shape it is in now.’
‘When I had read it, I sealed it up, in the presence of witnesses. It is still in that sealed envelope.’
‘Who were the witnesses?’
‘Deputy Hatch and my secretary, Mrs. Parkins.’
‘You figure to have them identify this sealed envelope later?’
‘Yes.’
‘And then you will offer the letter?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right,’ Mr. Pettingill agreed. ‘We’ll wait for that. That’ll do for now.’
Quinton, upon leaving the stand, called first Mrs. Parkins and then Deputy Hatch, leading them to identify their signatures on the still-sealed envelope containing Ellen’s letter, and to describe the recovery of the hamper and the finding of the bottle. Their stories paralleled Quinton’s as exactly as though they were made from the same master record, and Pettingill let them go without questions. ‘Never does any good to butt your head against a stone wall,’ he told Ruth over his shoulder.
‘Mrs. Parkins is in love with him,’ she whispered. ‘It sticks out all over her.’
He said drily: ‘That’d be a first-rate match. They’re a pair.’
Then Quinton said: ‘I now propose, Your Honor, unless there is an objection, to offer this letter.’
Mr. Pettingill rose. ‘Well, Brother Quinton,’ he said, ‘I’ll have to read it before I know whether it’s good evidence or not.’ Quinton hesitated, uncertain how to proceed; and Mr. Pettingill said: ‘Go ahead and open it.’
Quinton obeyed him. Mr. Pettingill took the letter, and stepped to the bench. He and Judge Andrus read the letter, and this was a slow business. Ruth, watching them, shook with the thudding of her heart, and the crowded courtroom lay under a breathless silence. Then Mr. Pettingill returned to the counsel table, but without sitting down he asked:
‘Brother Quinton, for what purpose do you offer this letter?’
‘To answer your question as to why I investigated the circumstances of Mrs. Harland’s death.’
Pettingill nodded. ‘Your Honor,’ he said, ‘this letter, so far as what it says goes, is not competent evidence.’
Quinton spoke quickly: ‘Your Honor, on my cross-examination I was asked why I investigated Mrs. Harland’s death. That letter is the answer. The answer is responsive to the question, and the letter for that purpose is competent.’
‘Your Honor,’ Mr. Pettingill explained. ‘My brother is a little previous. We do not object to the admission of this letter. We want all the facts in the jury’s hands. But we request that the jury be warned that nothing in the letter is evidence of the truth of any statements the writer makes. With that stipulation we agree to its admission, to show what started Brother Quinton into action.’
Judge Andrus hesitated. ‘If there were an objection,’ he said at last, addressing the jury, ‘I should exclude this letter.’ He looked in doubtful surprise at Mr. Pettingill, then went on: ‘Since there is none, I will let it be read. But gentlemen of the jury, I instruct you that nothing in this letter is evidence, and you are neither to believe nor disbelieve anything it says. It contains some accusations which you will ignore and disregard. It is to be taken as explaining why the investigation leading to this indictment was begun.’ He spoke to Quinton. ‘You may read the letter to the jury,’ he said.
– VI –
Quinton took the letter, but he turned back to his seat and spoke for a moment to the Attorney General. Mr. Shumate rose.
‘Your Honor,’ he explained. ‘To complete the foundation, I desire to recall Mr. Quinton for redirect examination.’ Quinton once more took the stand. ‘Now, Mr. Quinton,’ the Attorney General said. ‘I show you a letter. Do you recognize it?’
‘I do. It is a letter I received last June, the eighteenth.’
‘Addressed to whom?’
‘To me.’
‘What is the signature?’
‘It is signed “Ellen.”’
‘Did you — do you recognize the handwriting?’
‘I do.’
‘Whose is it?’
‘Mrs. Ellen Harland’s.‘
The Attorney General hesitated, turning to Mr. Pettingill as though expecting an objection; and Mr. Pettingill sighed and — as though to do so were a burden — went to take from Quinton’s hand one page of the letter, returning to show it to Ruth and Harland.
‘I suppose there’s no doubt she wrote it,’ he suggested in a low tone.
They looked at the single sheet, Ruth’s eyes racing down the lines; and Harland said chokingly: ‘It’s her handwriting.’ Ruth nodded, unable to speak, and the lawyer returned the sheet of paper to Quinton. Attorney General Shumate looked at him inquiringly, but Mr. Pettingill shook his head, and the other asked Quinton:
‘Is that letter dated?’
‘It is.’
‘What is the date?’
‘August twenty-ninth, two years ago, six days before Mrs. Harland’s death.’
‘Now will you read the letter.’
Ruth felt Harland stiffen in his chair beside her, and she wished to touch him, to give him strength; but as Quinton began to read, she forgot Harland, forgot everything in the anguish of that listening. Quinton read slowly and carefully, his voice pitched to carry to every ear; and though he spoke quietly, the silence was so complete that his each syllable was audible throughout the silent room.
‘Dear Russ:
‘I am writing this letter to you because we once meant a great deal to each other, because perhaps you still love me, because unless you do, there is no one who does love me now. Richard and I are driving to Bar Harbor tomorrow or the next day to visit Ruth. They love each other, and wish to be rid of me. Ruth has tried twice to kill me. Perhaps next time she will succeed.
‘Oh, I may be wrong, may be doing her a terrible injustice; but if I am, you will never see this letter. For I am leaving it with Mr. Carlson at the bank here, enclosed in a sealed envelope on which I shall write:
‘“This is to be opened if after my death my husband remarries.”
‘Inside the envelope I shall put a note to Mr. Carlson instructing him that if Mr. Harland marries Ruth, he is to mail this letter to you; but if Mr. Harland marries someone else, Mr. Carlson will destroy this letter unopened, for I will be proved to have been wrong.
‘So if you ever read this letter, you will know that I was right, and that Ruth poisoned me.
‘Ruth was in love with Mr. Harland almost from the beginning, but at first he loved me. You know my father’s hobby, so there was arsenic in his workroom at Bar Harbor, and also in the house at home. After Mr. Harland’s brother was drowned, I stayed at Bar Harbor while Mr. Harland went to Back of the Moon. You remember you came to see me there. That was “maid’s day out” and Ruth cooked dinner, giving us trays. Mother was in bed, and we all ate in her room. Ruth and I had our trays on the card table, but when I was about to sit down she caught my arm and said: “No, that’s my place. This is yours.” Yet the trays were, as far as I could see, exactly alike; lamb chops, salad, and apple pie sprinkled with confectioner’s sugar. I think there was arsenic in the sugar on my pie, for that night I was taken sick. I seemed to be burning up inside, and I was terribly thirsty, and yet I could not even keep water down.
‘But I recovered. We were to have a baby, and Mr. Harland and I — even though we grieved for Danny — were happy that fall. But little by little I saw him turning from me to Ruth, going almost every day to see her.
‘In the spring I lost my baby, but I lost Mr. Harland too, for after that he put me out of his life. I tried to win him back, and we planned a fishing trip together, but he insisted that Ruth go with us; and even the guides must have noticed that he preferred her company to mine. During the forest fire which caught us on the river they were together, and they slept that ni
ght in each other’s arms.
‘A few days ago, Ruth tried again to poison me. We had dinner at her apartment and she made a curry, and served our plates in the kitchen and brought them in to us. I saw traces of white powder on my curry but thought nothing of it. She must have used too much, or not enough, because though I was sick for days, I did recover.
‘I suppose she will try it again, and perhaps succeed, but I can’t seem to care, for Mr. Harland no longer loves me, and I’m tired, tired, tired. If I die during this visit in Bar Harbor, I think it will be because she gave me arsenic. I think she must have kept some of Father’s when we sold our Boston home after Mother’s death, or she can get it from his workshop in Bar Harbor. When we were girls, we shared what is now her bedroom, in the southeast corner of the second floor of the Bar Harbor house; and the baseboard was loose in the corner by the east window, and we pried it out and dug into the wall behind it and made a secret hiding place there. If she has arsenic hidden, it may be there. Here in Boston, of course, she doesn’t live with us, so she could hide it anywhere.
‘If I die, and if Mr. Harland does not marry Ruth, I may be mistaken. But if he does, then you will read this letter, and you will be able to find some way to punish them. I’ve told Mr. Carlson I want to be buried in Mount Auburn. The book says you can always detect arsenic poisoning even years after death. If she does kill me — she’s always hated me, as adopted children often do hate the real sons and daughters — please try to punish her, if only for the sake of the promise I once gave you. I’ve wept many times because I let Richard persuade me to break that promise.
‘Goodby, Russ. I always loved you.
‘Ellen’
Quinton finished; and he let his eyes run along the double row of jurors, then looked toward the spectators, and then toward the Attorney General, who while he read had stood quietly before him.
Leave Her to Heaven Page 36
