by Unknown
Well, up to now I’d been wondering what he was about, but suddenly I found I was on the defensive.
“Aw, I don’t know,” I muttered.
“Well, run along home to bed!” he said. “If a cop sees you, he’ll think you’re up to some mischief.”
“All right, Al,” I replied, relieved to find he wasn’t going to ask any questions. I always feel I’ve done something wrong when people start asking questions, even if I haven’t.
Al started off.
“Not that I think so!” he added over his shoulder.
“Thanks, Al! You’re a good fellow!” I said. “So long!”
“So long!” And we each went in our own directions.
When I was on my way to school next morning, I saw a crowd standing in front of Old Man Carr’s house. I went up to Jim Harley.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Jim looked at me, with that air a fellow has who knows something you don’t know.
“Why,” he said, slowly, “don’t you know?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t waste my time talking to you!”
I knew I could get as fresh as I liked; he was just dying to tell me.
“Why … last night … some time or other … somebody murdered Old Man Carr.”
Well, my heart just stood still. In a big city like New Paris, things like that are always happening. Only a few months before there was an auto accident and a lot of people were almost killed; one man was in the hospital over a week! But I never get used to those things.
“Gee!” I said. “Who did it?”
Jim shook his head.
“We don’t know yet,” he said, “but we’re going to find out!”
Well, we stood and watched the house for a half hour; and then I remembered that the Walrus said she’d fire me out of school if I was late again, so I beat it.
I got there just in time and I waited until I got settled in my seat in the English class, and then I started wondering. Who could have murdered Old Man Carr? There were lots of times when I was working in his garden, and he was standing over me giving directions, that I thought about doing it pretty seriously; but then I remembered my twenty cents an hour and decided to wait until I got another job. I was still wondering about it when I realized that everybody in the room was looking at me and some were giggling.
“I’ll give you just two seconds to get up and recite or to get up and leave this room forever, John Darrow!” the Walrus was saying.
I stood up.
“What do you want me to recite about?” I asked, meekly.
The Walrus put up a noble struggle with herself, but I thought she’d bust before she finally conquered.
“Recite today’s poem,” she replied in a weak voice, looking very pale.
I was willing to do that. I can always wonder about things when I’m reciting poetry, particularly if it’s nice, inspiring poetry.
“ ‘O, wild west wind, thou breath of autumn’s being!’ ” I commenced, starting at the same time to wonder who could possibly have killed Old Man Carr.
“ ‘O, lift me like a wave, a leaf, a—’ Gorry!”
“A what?” the Walrus shrieked.
But I had dropped into my seat with a bang. I had just remembered whom I saw running away from Old Man Carr’s house the night before. It just made me dizzy.
I must have looked pale, for the Walrus shut her mouth just as she was going to say something unfriendly, and all the kids stopped giggling.
One of the girls was standing up to recite the poem, when the door opened.
A policeman came in. The room was deadly silent while he walked to the Walrus’ desk. They stood whispering for a minute. Then they turned and looked at me.
“John,” said the Walrus; “you will go with the officer!”
I got up and walked to the door, trying to wonder whose patch I had been caught in. The cop took my arm, rather too firmly, for I wasn’t trying to get away. We walked down the stairs and out the school door without saying anything. Then we walked down the street, while everybody turned to look at me. Gee, I felt cheap!
When we got to the Court House I was just about wilted, and the cop almost had to drag me up the steps. We went through the long, dark corridor until he stopped before a door and knocked at it. After a minute the key was turned and the door opened.
Then I knew it was all up, for there I saw young Judge Forest and I had been in his backyard the night before to see if I couldn’t find a potato barrel or an apple barrel, for I was rather short of supplies. He was sitting there looking serious and there were several cops and people, and among them was Alfred Burnet!
Well, I thought that was pretty mean! Here I had thought right along that Al was a friend of mine, and now he was testifying against me, just because he saw me out late the night before! And after he had said that he didn’t think I had done anything, too!
Well, they led me to a seat and I sat down hard. And then Judge Forest said:
“Good morning, Jack. How are you?”
And I answered him:
“Good morning, sir. How are you?”
I wanted to say, “How are your potatoes?” but I thought perhaps it would be better if I didn’t.
Well, the Judge pulled his chair up and leaned over, just as if he were going to offer me a cigar, and then he said:
“Jack, I want to ask you a few questions.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and looked at the window, and wondered how long it would be before I saw it from the outside.
They couldn’t put me in the coop for over a month for just a couple of measly potatoes that I didn’t get anyhow.
“Jack,” said the Judge in a soft voice, “where were you last night?”
“I was in the woods,” I told him.
“You were.… And what time did you come home?”
Well, I was scared, but I wanted to laugh at that. He was way off the track! I was in his backyard before I went up to the woods. So I answered:
“Pretty late. About midnight, I reckon.”
“You reckon? Aren’t you sure? Didn’t you look at your watch?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re sure you didn’t look at your watch?”
“No—that is, no, sir.”
I was a little rattled by the way he tried to catch me.
“Ah! You’re just a little bit in doubt.… Now, Jack! Be careful! Are you sure you didn’t look at your watch?”
“Yes, sir.… I haven’t got any,” I added, happening to think that might be a good argument.
Well, everybody laughed—except Al. He only smiled rather weakly. I thought he looked as if he was ashamed of himself when he had to face me. The Judge leaned closer to me and then he said, very softly:
“Well … we’ll say about midnight.… And did you meet anybody on your way home?”
Well, Al was sitting there, looking at me, sort of white and determined, so I decided to be frank about it. Honesty pays—sometimes.
“Yes,” I said.
And then there was a great silence and everybody—except Al—leaned over as if they would fall off of their chairs, and the Judge whispered:
“Who?”
And I said, with a loud, ringing, frank voice:
“Alfred Burnet!”
You could have heard a pin drop. Everybody who was facing Al turned away. The Judge never took his eyes from me.
“Where did you meet him?” he asked.
And then it suddenly flashed over me. I got dizzy and cold all over. All I could see was Al’s white face and his big eyes looking at me. I’ll never forget those eyes!
The Judge grabbed hold of my knee and pressed it, and his mouth became hard and cruel.
“Answer me, boy!” he commanded. “Where did you see Mr. Burnet?”
“I—I can’t remember.…”
I’d heard that that was all right to say in courtrooms, but I reckon I made a mistake, for Pat Ryan, the biggest cop on the force, came up and grabbed my shoulder and
the Judge pressed my leg until I thought it was going to break.
“I saw you at one o’clock turning down from the Avenue,” said Pat. “I’ll make you remember!” He shook my shoulder. “And I’ll know if you’re telling the truth!”
“Where did you see Mr. Burnet?”
“In front of—of his house.”
Then the cop shook the upper part of me until I could hear my bones rattle, and the Judge almost squeezed the juice out of the lower part of me. And when they got tired Al said in a low voice:
“Tell the truth, Jackie boy.”
“Where did you see Mr. Burnet?”
“I saw him in front of—in front of Ol—Mr. Carr’s house.”
“What was he doing?”
“He was … running.”
“Away from the house?”
“Yes.”
“Did he act as though he was frightened?”
The voice sounded miles away.
“Yes.”
I could hear my own voice like a loud whisper.
There was a moment’s silence. Then the Judge started asking me more questions that I couldn’t see any sense in. And all the time I answered them, looking at Al’s white face and staring eyes.
Finally the Judge stood up. He picked something from the table and held it behind his back.
“One question more,” he said. “Did you ever see this before?”
And he pulled out his hand.
I was fairly sick. In his hand he held a German trench knife. It was one Al had brought home from the war. And it was covered with blood—new blood!
I nodded my head.
“Where did you see it?”
I looked at Al. He nodded his head slightly.
“In—in Al’s house.”
The Judge nodded to one of the policemen, who went to open the door.
“That will be all, Jack,” said the Judge, smiling and holding out his hand. “Thank you very much. You are free to go. Only don’t leave town before the trial.… Good-bye.”
I stood up. I was almost bawling, but I wouldn’t have let them see it for the world.
“There’s one thing you didn’t ask me!” I said, shouting to keep back the tears. “And that’s whether I think Al murdered Old Man Carr or not!”
The Judge smiled.
“Well?” he said, picking up some papers.
“Well,” I shouted; “I think there isn’t a one of you who wouldn’t do it a million times quicker than he would!”
And then I went out as quick as I could, without letting them think I was in a hurry.
I walked fast out of the town and then I just tore across the fields until I got to the woods. And then I sat down and cried like a girl.
Well, I got that off my chest and then I built a fire and lay down and started wondering. I wondered for a long while without getting anywhere, and then I reckon I must have fallen asleep, for it was almost dark when I turned over, shivering, and saw my fire was out. There were little flakes of snow coming down, although it was March.
I got up to go home, and then it occurred to me I might meet Irene, and I was scared stiff. So I decided to go to my cabin for the night. I’ve already spoken about that. It’s a little cabin in the woods, about five miles from town. It really isn’t mine, having been built by a young couple who live in Berlin, next town to New Paris. But they don’t use it, except in the summer. I go out there a good deal in the winter, but I never bother them when they’re around.
So I started down the little path, and it got darker and darker, because the trees were getting thicker and the night was coming on. And the snow fell very quiet, and my footsteps hardly made any noise because there was a carpet of thick, soggy leaves. And then, suddenly, after I had gone about three miles, I stopped short. For there ahead of me, I saw a girl, sitting on a stump, leaning over and trying to write something with a pencil on her knee. With a paper in between, of course.
Well, I advanced cautiously, for I’ve been in the Boy Scouts, and I’ve learned it’s silly to expose yourself needlessly when you’re in the woods. There’s always apt to be a trap around when you see something awfully innocent-looking—like a young girl writing on a paper.
Then, all at once, I gave a shout, for I saw it was only Jane Brewster, the pretty girl who minds the babies at the Masons’ and does odd chores at different houses in the afternoons.
Jane gave a little cry, and crumpled the paper up quick. I didn’t blame her. It’s a scary thing to have somebody yell at you like that when you’re alone in the woods and it’s almost dark. Besides, for all I knew, she might have belonged to the Girl Scouts one time.
But when I came up and she saw who I was, she still looked pale and scared and hid the paper behind her.
“Hello, Jane!” I said, cheerfully.
She stared at me as I stood before her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked me, very hoarsely.
“Me? I’m on a vacation. Going to my winter mansion. But what are you doing here?”
Jane dropped her eyes.
“I’m going home,” she said in a low voice.
“Going home!” I cried. “But your people live fifteen miles away from here! You can’t get there tonight!”
But Jane didn’t lift her eyes from the ground.
“I’m going home,” she repeated doggedly.
Well, I was puzzled. I couldn’t understand why Jane should be going back to her family suddenly this late in the day, when she could get a train the next morning. But that wasn’t any of my business. All I cared about was the fact that I knew she would be lost in the woods when night came on for fair. So I said:
“I’ll tell you, Jane. You can’t ever get home this late. You come to my cabin! There are three beds there—and a screen to make a regular room for you. And you stay there for the night and start home first thing in the morning!”
Jane looked at me rather suspiciously; but I argued with her. Poor Jane! I wish she had told me to go to the devil and tried to get home as best she could in the dark woods! Still, if it hadn’t been Jane, it would have been— But I’ve got to tell the story in order. The Walrus always said I get things tail end to, and I reckon she’s right.
Well, Jane got up and followed me. We walked along the path in Indian file and without saying anything. Finally it got so dark I had to wave my arms about to keep from bumping into trees, and I told Jane to grab hold of my coat. And all the time I could feel the little flakes of snow touching my face.
At last we got to the cabin. I was used to it, but Jane seemed sort of scared when I opened the door for her after I climbed in the window. I reckon it is a pretty gloomy place.
But I lighted a lamp and built a fire in the pot-bellied stove. And then I got on my knees and felt under the bed, and brought out some potatoes and apples and a can of tomato soup I’d found in Jenkins’ Grocery Store and which I’d kept for some big occasion like this. Then we cooked them and we had a big feast.
After supper I lighted my pipe and sat with my feet on the stove, while Jane washed the dishes. It was awful homelike. I wonder if Irene washes dishes good?
Then the first funny thing happened. When she finished washing the dishes and thought I wasn’t looking, Jane tiptoed over to the coal scuttle that was used for ashes and dropped the paper she had been writing on into it and covered it with ashes. Then she came and sat opposite me. I was facing the stove. She was facing the window.
“This is a nice place,” she said, folding her hands and looking around and smiling a weak little smile.
It was a nice place—a long cabin, with two cots at either end, under the windows, and a cot and a screen for when the owners had company, near the stove. Then there were a couple of tables: one with the lamp on it, that gave a mighty cheerful glow to the room.
“I like it,” I replied. “It’s a relief to get out here in the quiet, away from the excitement and noise in New Paris.”
When I said “New Paris,” the smile left her face, and
that reminded me of what I was trying to forget. So I decided to talk about it. I like to have somebody to talk over my troubles with; I’m funny that way.
“Wasn’t that a terrible murder!” I said, as an opener.
With that, Jane turned as pale as if somebody had sucked the blood right out of her. I decided that she was a sympathetic listener, so I kept on.
“Not that it wasn’t a good thing to get Old Man Carr out of the way, but to think of their accusing Al Burnet—”
But Jane jumped up.
“What did you say?” she cried, looking down at me as if she was going to eat me.
“Haven’t you heard?” I asked. “They’ve arrested poor Al!”
Jane dropped in her seat, and started staring at the button that wasn’t on my coat.
“Anybody who’d think Al could murder his father, even if he was only his stepfather, is crazy!” I muttered.
Jane didn’t say anything. She just stared, and her breath came hard.
“I’d rather think I did it myself,” I went on.
I waited for Jane to answer, but she didn’t. So I shut up and listened to the wood crackling in the stove. Suddenly Jane spoke and I jumped.
“Do you think they can—they can—”
But she couldn’t finish it.
I knew what she meant, though.
“It looks pretty hard for him,” I told her. “They made me testify I saw him outside late at night. And they found his German trench knife covered with blood there.”
Jane had kept her eyes lowered all the time. Now she looked up and glanced around the room. She was trembling all over.
“Jack,” she whispered; “can you keep a secret?”
“I reckon so,” I answered.
“Can you keep it until it’s a question of life or death—and then let me know two days beforehand?”
I looked at her in surprise.
“What are you driving at, Jane?” I demanded.
But Jane was impatient.
“Can you?” she repeated.
“Of course I can!”
“Swear?”
“On the Bible.” And I held my hand in the air and cussed.
She was still for a moment. Then she leaned forward and whispered:
“I know who killed Mr. Carr!”
