"How?" he asked.
"Why, the missing bills having now been accounted for," I answered, "there is nothing to show that any one else was on the scene that night or to furnish a motive for the crime, and so there remains no one but Winters to whom suspicion can attach."
"You don't look at it properly," he answered; "the most important thing incidental to the discovery of the money is the fact that its effect will be to substantiate Winters's statement."
I looked at him inquiringly, and seeing I did not comprehend, he explained.
"White evidently took all the money with him, carelessly stuffed in the outside pocket of his ulster, when he went out that night and he might easily have dropped one of the bills in the vestibule: such being the case, Winters's statement that he found it there becomes not only reasonable, but probable."
I saw the force of this at once, and was rejoiced at it: but at the same time I was more perplexed than ever by the situation it disclosed.
"If White," I asked, expressing my doubts to Miles, "took all the money out with him that night, as you say, what motive remains to explain the murder?"
"We have got to find a new motive," he answered, "and when we do find it, I am much mistaken if it does not disclose a deeper planned scheme and a cleverer hand than we have anticipated."
My interest was keenly aroused and I was ready at once to enter into the new aspect of the case, but Miles would not have it so.
"Wait till to-morrow, Mr. Dallas," he said; "you are tired, and had better seek some amusement this evening," and bidding me good-bye, he left me.
I recognized the virtue of his advice and acted on it, for after all enough had been done for one day.
A week had elapsed since the happening of the events related in the last chapter, and I sat with Littell and Van Bult in one of the private rooms of a quiet downtown restaurant, where we had been lunching together by my 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 look up Littell, for my whole time and attention had been given to investigation of the White case: but now being at the end of my resources I had summoned them to this gathering that I might advise with them.
I must advise with somebody, and it seemed to me that these two were the most available. They were necessarily interested in the case and more or less familiar with the facts, and besides they were both cleverer than the average of men, while one of them at least was an experienced and astute lawyer.
I felt, therefore, or perhaps only hoped, that where Miles and myself had come to a halt in our work from sheer inability to make further progress, these two, building on what we had done, and fresh and new to the subject, might supplement our efforts and carry them on to some definite result.
During the preceding week, the detective and myself had not been idle nor had we worked altogether to no purpose, for we had secured one bit of additional evidence that seemed to open a new field for investigation, and it was this new matter with the other occurrences that led up to it that I was now submitting to my friends.
The day after our interview with Mrs. Bunce, which resulted in the finding of the missing money, Miles and I had resumed our work upon the case, 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 in some object less commonplace than theft.
To assume that White had been murdered for the money and that it had been abandoned almost immediately afterwards and without any apparent occasion, was too unlikely to be tenable. To find another motive for the crime, however, seemed next to impossible. If the object of the murderer was not theft, then he must have had a personal interest to subserve in the removal of White: but such an assumption involved the recognition of some grave secret in the life of White and anything of that kind was inconsistent with the life and habits of the man. I had known him long and intimately, and knew no one whom I thought in character less devious or secretive. His life had been that of any other idle man of means about town. It had not even had a serious side to it that I had ever observed, and I could not conceive of his having had an enemy who could cherish animosity, much less a design upon his life.
Under these circumstances, as may be understood, it was with faint hope that 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's innocence, there must have existed some mystery in White's life to explain his death, and if we were to save Winters, we must discover it.
Yielding to the force of this argument, therefore, I had sought another interview with Benton and probed him upon every subject that could throw any light upon White's private life or associations: but further than some additional details of the intimacy with Belle Stanton, I learned, as I had anticipated, nothing of any importance. If White had either enemies or secrets Benton either had no knowledge of them or was unwilling to disclose it.
In the meanwhile the detective had sought Belle Stanton and interrogated her to the same end, but with no better success. She talked very freely on the subject and apparently told all she knew, but this was little or nothing of importance. She admitted, however that for some time past, White had seemed worried and nervous, which condition had been steadily getting worse. He had also, she said, complained of not sleeping and being worried about some person or something, but he had never mentioned in her hearing any name.
Failing thus with both Benton and Miss Stanton, the only two persons who seemed likely to know anything of White's private life, we next had recourse to inanimate sources. By the detective's advice, we determined to make an exhaustive search of his rooms. The authorities had, of course, already done this, but it was just possible something had been overlooked.
In pursuance of this plan we had visited the premises, and thoroughly examined everything. I had even gone through the pockets of his clothes while Miles had ransacked every drawer, vase, and other receptacle that by any chance might contain anything. It had all, nevertheless, proved in vain, and we were about abandoning the work, when Miles picked up a piece of paper, a corner of which had been barely visible, protruding from under the writing desk. He glanced at it, at first indifferently, then with a closer interest, and at last took it to the window and scrutinized 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 either address or signature, but the latter was unnecessary as I recognized the handwriting of White. The paper was about the following shape, and contained these broken words and sentences:
We turned the sheet over, but the reverse side was blank: evidently the letter 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 room and moving the furniture, but there was nothing more. Probably the other pieces had been thrown into the waste-paper basket which stood beside the desk, and this scrap, by a lucky chance, had escaped its destination.
We sent for the landlady and interrogated her as to the disposition made of the sweepings of the room. She in turn sought the hired girl, who remembered "fixing up the room" and emptying the basket the morning before White's death, but she had put the sweepings in the ash-can and they had long since been removed in the usual way.
We deemed it of the greatest importance that we find the other pieces of the letter if possible, and to that end Miles had sought out the ash-man for the district, and had the dump where he unloaded his cart thoroughly searched for them, but in vain. The rest of the letter was hopelessly lost.
In it we both believed was contained a clue to the mystery we were trying so hard to unravel, but we were compelled to accept the inevitable in this instance and make the most of what we had secured. It was a good deal, too, though very incomplete. It might not trace the crime to any particular individual, but at least it showed a secret in the life of the murdered man that affected him deeply and in which another had an intimate share, and it showed, further, that all was not in accord between the two. There had evidently been a bitter contest going on, for how long or what about was not disclosed, but it had existed and should be explained.
I had tried to complete the lines that were mutilated, but some of them were so incomplete and susceptible of so many different interpretations that the results were not sufficiently reliable to be useful or safe to work upon. I did, however, satisfy myself that the substance of the first seven lines had been something like the following (the words in parentheses 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"
"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 only failed to find definite evidence that could direct attention to any one else than the prisoner, but so far had even failed to secure the services of a lawyer to defend him. There were plenty to be had among those who made a specialty of criminal practice, but I did not consider such qualified for the service: the best of them were so well known in that capacity that their methods and arguments were received with incredulity by the average juror: while of those who were engaged in civil practice, I found none of such parts as I sought inclined to take the case.
Whoever defended Winters would have an uphill fight to make. The prosecution would be supported by the press and by public sentiment and the jurors would probably take their seats in the box with every disposition to deal fairly by the prisoner, but with an underlying conviction 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 man possessed of the quality of personal magnetism: for it is this that is most potent in saving desperate cases. To find that man, however, seemed next to hopeless.
Such, then, was the status of things at the hour of which I write, when having submitted the facts and the difficulties, together with my theories of the case, to my companions, I sat waiting expectantly for some expression from them on the subject: but there ensued only discouraging silence. Littell sat tipped back in his chair, smiling a little to himself and reflectively watching the smoke curl slowly up from the cigar held daintily between his fingers: while Van Bult, leaning forward, contemplated the tips of his shoes, elevated apparently for the purpose, and whistled a plaintive tune.
My position was not an agreeable one. I felt my friends were trying to determine in their own minds just how best to deal with a man whom they considered suffering from temporary mental aberration, and as I waited for the decision, the silence seemed to grow thick around that melancholy ditty of Van Bult's. At last, unable longer to stand it, I said 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 mouth and both looked at me.
"I really don't see, Dallas," Van Bult said at length, "why you are bothering yourself about this man's fate. It cannot differ so much from many 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 charge of all the means he has, and above all, because I don't believe him guilty."
"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 was innocent.
"I am inclined to think so," Littell answered thoughtfully.
My pulse jumped with delight, but again subsided at Van Bult's discouraging response.
"Well, I confess," he said, "I cannot quite take that view of it: it seems to me that Dallas has been creating doubts out of his own inner consciousness, but I am willing to assume he is correct for the sake of his case, as he has given it more consideration than I have: and now what is to be done?"
"There is unfortunately little time for anything at this late hour," I replied, "except to try and find the right lawyer, and put him in possession of what facts and materials we have for the defence. We can hardly expect," I continued, "to secure any important additional testimony 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 deem necessary: one with reputation, ability, and personal magnetism, I think 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 hand significantly on Littell's shoulder. "Here he is," he said, "ready made to hand. A lawyer possessing all your requirements, and with faith in the innocence of the client besides!"
I accepted the suggestion with joy, and was only surprised that it had not occurred to me, but Littell was evidently taken aback and none too well pleased.
"No, no! Van, it cannot be," he said, "it is impossible," and he got up and 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 great responsibility: you are the proper man, not I, and you had better resign from the District Attorney's office and take the case yourself."
"I cannot," I answered. "Such a proceeding would be unprecedented, and besides I am too deeply interested in the case to handle it as dispassionately 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, I am going to cast the deciding vote. Will you both consent to abide by my decision?"
There was no other alternative that I could perceive, and much as I feared his choice might fall upon me, I said I would do so.
"And you, Littell," he asked. The latter hesitated and resumed his seat before he answered, but finally assented. Then said Van Bult: "I choose Littell."
I gave a sigh of relief. Winters's case was at last entrusted to good hands and the wisdom of my judgment in confiding in my friends was confirmed, but when my first selfish feeling of satisfaction had passed, I realized we were asking a great deal of Littell. He was no longer a young man and, as I knew, all his tastes and feelings must revolt against the nature of the task we had put upon him, and I looked over with some sense of regret for my action, but he sat there serenely smoking his cigar, and sipping his brandy as though nothing unusual had occurred. With his never-failing philosophy he had already resigned himself to the inevitable and whatever misgivings he may have had, they were 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 I found some one to share the burden I had been staggering under for two weeks and which was daily growing heavier, but it was that one in whom before all others I placed the greatest confidence.
It was Littell who recalled me from my abstraction to the consideration of 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!" he continued, "cannot be of any assistance just now, but Dick can take me to 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 serious duties to occupy me," he answered.
Van Bult gazed at him with evident appreciation of the sacrifice he was making.
"It is good of you, Littell," he said, "and I fancy the world will think none the less of you for the sacrifice you are making for a poor fellow who is nothing to you."
Littell shook his head impatiently; he was never a man who liked compliments.
"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, but before I leave you, let me offer a suggestion that does not seem to have occurred 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 Winters is not guilty, and the criminal some person who was involved in trouble with White or bore ill-will to him, that in such case the most likely person 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 ulster at her house, that is if she did not do so herself. She probably had a key to White's room. If he had a secret she more likely than any one else shared it with him; and if his affections for her were waning or straying, 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 have advanced occurred to me, and for that reason, as I have told you, I had Miles interrogate her closely, and you know the result; he believes she knows nothing of the murder."
"I believe she does, nevertheless," he replied.
"You are wrong, Van," Littell put in, "for, even admitting the force of your arguments, the woman must have been mad to have taken the ulster home with her after the deed; she would sooner have dropped it on the street 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, and attribute to criminals red-handed from crime the same cleverness that you display yourselves when calmly analyzing their acts. A woman who has just committed a murder is apt to lose her mental balance and to do many irresponsible 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, then you 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 who did!" and giving us no time to argue further with him, he left us.
Littell and myself, without continuing the discussion, then took our way to the Tombs to see Winters. It was not a pleasant visit to make and I would willingly have escaped it, but I had to comply with Littell's wish.
When we reached the building and had been admitted, I introduced my companion to the warden, explaining that he was to defend Winters. The warden looked him over with interest, saying as he shook hands:
"Not an easy job of yours, I fear, sir"; and then addressing me: "You will 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 find him 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 the warden's statements. He had grown pale and thinner since his confinement and seemed weaker. Of course the immediate effects of dissipation had disappeared, but behind them they had left the evidence of a man really ill. He recognized me with evident pleasure, but showed little interest in 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 thinks I am guilty."
"But I don't!" said Littell promptly. "I feel sure you are not guilty and that is why I am going to defend you."
The strong confident tones of Littell acted like a tonic on the man. He braced 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 from you, 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 me more than ever of his innocence.
Littell listened closely and when he had finished asked him, in a conversational way, many questions about details; questions that seemed natural and innocent in themselves, and which were promptly and freely answered, but questions that, I felt, would have confounded and tripped up a guilty man or an untruthful one.
When the interview was concluded and we were on our way uptown, Littell said 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 help you?" I asked.
"Nothing more just now, I think," he answered. "There is too little time left for you to take up any new lines of investigation. We will devote ourselves to thoroughly digesting and mastering the facts we have so that 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 way engaged in earnest discussion of the defence.
It was the morning of the day of the trial and I sat at my desk getting through some routine duties in an entirely perfunctory way prior to attending the opening of the court.
It had been determined that I was not to participate in the conduct of the case in any way: indeed, there was little alternative left the District Attorney in the matter after I had explained to him the course I had been pursuing and my views on the subject.
He had not appeared much surprised by my disclosures and was probably not unprepared for them, but he questioned me as to my opinions and I thought seemed not unimpressed. In any event he acquiesced in my request to be excused from participation and even added the assurance that Winters should have every opportunity of defence.
At this moment, however, I did not feel confident. Look at the facts as I would, they presented very little to encourage. Nothing had changed since Littell and I had paid our visit to the Tombs. Nothing new had been discovered: indeed we had made little attempt in that direction, recognizing the almost certain futility of any effort in the limited time available, and in the meanwhile public opinion and the expression of the press had been crystallizing into an abiding conviction of the prisoner's guilt.
I could not criticise the sentiment, for I recognized the strength of the State's case: and when I reviewed it, as I had done over and over again, it seemed all but conclusive even to me. The defence had absolutely nothing to present against an array of hard facts, but some ill-supported theories.
It was a quarter to ten o'clock, and I put away the work I had been affecting to attend to, and took my way to the court-house.
Only my official position gained me admission to the scene, and as it was, an officer had to make a passage for me through the crowd that had collected in and about the building.
The Judge had not yet taken his place upon the bench, but the lawyers, clerks, bailiffs, and reporters were in their accustomed places within the rail which held back from the sacred precinct a throng of spectators so dense that it could not make room for one more.
If one had been disposed for it, a lesson in the nether nature of man might have been studied in the faces of those pressing eagerly about the railing, alert with morbid curiosity.
In the crowd were both men and women and others little more than children: many who had themselves figured in the prisoner's dock in that same court-room: many more who would be there, and all, or nearly all, of that waste class that make the criminals and the crimes of a great community.
Littell sat at the table of the defence quietly observing the scene about him, very likely engaged with thoughts such as had suggested themselves to me: but his face wore a more serious expression than was habitual to it, and there was a look of self-reliance and determination in the brave eyes and about the firm mouth that inspired me again with some confidence.
Winters had an able jurist and a dominating personality to guide his fortunes and I felt there was a chance for him even against the odds.
At the table of the prosecution sat the District Attorney and the junior he had selected to assist him in my stead. They were good lawyers, and would handle their case well I knew, but the work they were to engage in was an old story to them,—a matter of almost daily routine,—and they would therefore lack the concentrated interest and the nervous force that attend upon the defence.
There also, seated within the rail among the witnesses, were Van Bult, Davis, Belle Stanton, Mrs. Bunce, Miles, and Benton, and all the others that had already figured in the case.
I felt a strong inclination to take my seat beside Littell, for that was where my sympathies led me, but with only a glance in his direction, I took the chair a bailiff pushed up for me to the table of the prosecution.
Then a door opened and closed at one side of the room, and the crier in a brisk tone ordered "Hats off!"
A moment later, as the Judge took his seat on the bench, the same voice intoned: "Oyez! Oyez! The court is now in session!" and then the bustle of business took possession of the scene.
The Judge adjusted his collar and tried the points of some new pens; the lawyers sent the bailiffs hurrying for "authorities"; the clerks rustled the pages of their dockets, and the reporters sprawled over their table and scribbled copy.
Next a whispered conversation took place between the District Attorney and the Judge, and a moment later, by the order of the clerk, the prisoner was brought out.
All faces were turned in his direction: the crowd of spectators swaying as each one struggled for a passing glance.
I looked at Winters as he was led in between two wardens. Fear was depicted in his face, and he shrank from the hostile and angry looks that met him on all sides as with lowered head and eyes he made his way to a place by his counsel.
It was hard to conceive how the appearance of that broken man could fail to excite pity and there must have been some among the crowd who pitied him, even though they condemned: but the majority saw only a murderer and hated him.
It was the manifestation of that unreasoning brute instinct to torture and kill dominant in the lower order of men, and which when encouraged by numbers and incited by the chance of a helpless victim, finds its active expression in a lynching.
When Winters had taken his place, the clerk read the indictment on arraignment and then put the usual question: "Are you guilty or not guilty?" to which the answer, in a low voice, was, "Not guilty!"
Next followed the selection of a jury. This task proved less difficult than usual in such cases, mainly because Littell showed no disposition to captious challenges, seeming only desirous of securing the services of intelligent men.
In a little more than two hours therefore, the twelve men were in their places and had been sworn, and as I looked over the jury, I felt that Littell had obtained his object, for its personnel was above the average.
The opening address of the junior for the State, which followed after a recess, was a clear and a concise statement of the facts, free from argument and dispassionate as it should be.
Upon its conclusion the State proceeded to offer its testimony. Witness after witness was called in rapid succession. First the technical requirements of the case were established: the death of the deceased, the character of the wound, the nature of the instrument used, and then other similar formal details; and thus in categorical questions and answers that were uninteresting, but essential, the first day's proceedings drew to a close.
During each examination Littell had been an attentive listener, but had portrayed no special concern and had rarely interrupted. He was too good a lawyer to lessen his prestige with the jury by indulging in aimless cross-questions of witnesses who had simply told the truth about undisputed facts. When he did cross-examine at all in such cases it was but briefly and with no attempt to break down the witness, but rather to develop more fully the facts and possibilities of the case, and the result of his questions in each instance had been to throw additional light upon the subject and to help the jury to its better understanding.
After adjournment I stood with others an interested observer of a short conversation the lawyer was holding with his client. Whatever the substance of it might have been, it was such as to bring a smile to the face of the prisoner as he turned away with his guards to go back to his prison.
Littell looked after him thoughtfully for a moment before he gathered together his papers and himself prepared to leave. As he did so I joined him, anticipating that we should have an evening in each other's society; but it was not to be, for I found him in a mood stern and taciturn and disinclined to talk about the case, and so after several ineffectual attempts at conversation I left him.
My evening—spent alone therefore—was a dull one and the night long, and I was glad to find myself again at the trial table on the following morning. Here, all about me, the surroundings were unchanged in any way and it was hard to realize that there had been an interval of emptiness and silence within those walls.
As soon as court opened the State called Benton to the stand, and then the real battle of the trial began. He presented a different subject for the handling of the defence, for he not only testified to important matters, but he was the first witness to show any bias, and Littell gave more marked attention to his testimony. Under lengthy examination the witness told his story to the smallest particular, including the tales he had brought to me about the visits of the defendant to White's house, his demands upon him for money, and his assertions of his right to the money left by his father, and he also threw out some hints of threats and quarrels—all tending as much by insinuation as fact to cast suspicion upon the prisoner.
After the State had extracted all it could from him, he was turned over to Littell, and then the wisdom of that lawyer's previous course was demonstrated, for when, instead of waiving the witness from the stand or asking a few indifferent questions as he had done on other occasions, he turned and faced him preparatory to full cross-examination, both Judge and jury showed a newly awakened interest.
Littell allowed a few minutes to elapse while he scrutinized the witness, before he put his first question, and it was apparent to me that the delay was trying to Benton, who was already in a nervous state, for he moved restlessly and directed his gaze anxiously to the lawyer.
At length Littell began his cross-examination, and after taking him categorically over each item in his testimony, pinning him definitely in each instance as to time and place and separating fact from conjecture, he asked him pointedly if he had told the Coroner's jury as he had this one that Winters was in the habit of visiting White; or that he demanded money of him, or that he claimed White's money to have been by right his.
The witness admitted that he had not told them any of these things.
"Why did you not?" Littell continued.
Benton seemed embarrassed, but at length said he supposed he had not done so because he did not think of them at the time.
Littell waited patiently till the answer was forthcoming, and then continued:
"Now tell the jury was not the real reason you did not tell these things at that time because it had not then occurred to you that suspicion would attach to Winters?"
"Yes," he admitted, after some hesitation, "I expect that was the reason."
"And," continued Littell, "when you found later that suspicion had attached to Winters, and that he was arrested for the murder, did you not then tell these things because you thought they would strengthen the case against him?"
"Yes," he replied, "I think they are evidence against him."
"And why should you wish to give evidence against him? Do you think him guilty?" was the next question.
This was a little further than Benton was willing to go, and he answered that he did not know.
"Well," said Littell; "let us see if we cannot find out what you really do know about it; you probably have more knowledge of the conditions surrounding the case than has any one else."
And then, by further interrogation, he elicited the fact that the front door of the house was fastened and required a latch-key to open it when Benton arrived the morning of the murder, and also that while he had frequently admitted Winters to the house, he had never known him to possess a key to the premises.
"And how, then, do you think he got in on this night?" Littell continued.
Benton probably recalled his unsuccessful attempt to explain this problem to me on another occasion, for he made no effort to do so now, merely acknowledging lamely that he did not understand how he had obtained admission.
"And yet," continued Littell, "you have said everything you could to the jury to make it appear that Winters was White's murderer."
Benton did not attempt to answer this charge and seemed anxious to evade further questions, but Littell showed no disposition to let him off, but leaving his seat took his stand at Benton's elbow and continued his questions at close range, emphasizing each one:
"As a matter of fact, don't you know, or at least are you not satisfied, that Winters had no key to White's house?" he asked.
Accustomed to render obedience to Littell, and by this time thoroughly cowed, Benton was no longer capable of resistance, and assented obediently to the question.
"And do you not know also," Littell continued, "that whoever secured access to White's room that night and killed him, had, in all probability, a key to the house?" and again Benton assented.
"Then it hardly seems likely that Winters was that man, does it?" he concluded,—and the witness had nothing to answer.
Littell next questioned him about White's habits and his relations with other men, and extracted the admission that for some time before his death White had seemed worried and had talked vaguely about some trouble and some person.
"Do you know what that trouble was?" he was asked.
"I do not," he answered.
Littell hesitated as if doubtful of the expediency of pressing his questions further on this line, till the Judge, observing it, himself asked the witness if he knew who the person was; but the witness replied that he did not, adding, however, as an afterthought, that it might have been Winters. At this Littell took a vigorous hand again.
"Do you believe it was Winters?" he asked sharply.
"I don't know," he was answered evasively.
"But was not Mr. White always very candid in speaking to you about Winters?" Littell insisted.
"Yes," he replied; "he was."
"Then if it had been Winters, do you not think he would have spoken of him by name?" and Littell's tone was almost angry.
"Yes," Benton answered reluctantly.
"Then you do not believe it was Winters?" Littell concluded.
"No, I do not," he admitted finally.
Next Littell secured from Miles the torn piece of a letter we had found in White's sitting-room, and with the consent of the State submitted it to the witness and had him read its broken sentences to the jury, and after he had done so, asked him if he had any idea to what it referred or for whom it was intended, but the witness denied any knowledge on the subject.
The defence having concluded, the prosecution endeavored upon re-direct examination to restore the force of the direct testimony, but without much success; the damage was done, and the witness was no longer capable of assisting in its repair.
Littell had scored, and that on the first occasion on which he had taken any serious part in the proceedings, and it must be, I thought, that the jury would now await his words with even increased interest. He continued sparing of them, however, permitting witness after witness—Van Bult and Davis among them—to leave the stand without cross-examination or with only a few casual questions.
Nothing new was developed until Belle Stanton was cross-examined. Her direct testimony had been a mere repetition of that which she had given before the Coroner's jury, but Littell,—regardless of the strict limitations of cross-examination—directed his questions to the matter of White's supposed trouble, of which it seemed possible she might have some knowledge, and his course was justified by the results.
She corroborated Benton's testimony as to White's disturbed mental condition and went so far as to testify that he cherished some bitter feeling towards some one. She said that this much she had learned from his own lips and was sure of, and also that his feeling in the matter was becoming daily more acute, but she denied having any knowledge of its cause, or of the identity of the person. She, too, when shown the letter, was unable to say for whom it was intended, but she expressed the opinion that its contents were suggestive of some of the things White had said when talking of his trouble. Nothing more definite than this could be obtained from her, as she disclaimed recollection of any exact words used by him, and said it was all only an impression she had gathered almost unconsciously from disconnected remarks which he had dropped at different times. "He had been drinking a good deal before his death," she added in explanation, "and was not always quite himself"; and Littell, having attained his object of enforcing upon the attention of the jury these apparent secrets in White's life, did not pursue the cross-examination further.
I had looked for him to question her regarding the presence of the ulster at her house but he did not do so, and I concluded he was satisfied that it would be to no purpose.
I was amused when Mrs. Bunce testified by the promptness with which she acted upon the advice given her by Miles; in her anxiety to do so even volunteering the information that she had found three fifty-dollar bills in the pocket of the ulster; otherwise her testimony did not differ from that formerly given. Littell, however, insisted upon knowing in what condition she found the money, upon which she said that it was carelessly stuffed in an outside pocket, and agreed to his further suggestion that part of it might readily have fallen out.
Of the night-officer, when he had given his damaging testimony against the prisoner, Littell asked first if Winters had the ulster, or any bundle that could have contained it, when he saw him come out of the vestibule; to which the witness gave a positive negative.
He then cross-examined him as to the reliability of his identification of the man he saw clad in the ulster as Arthur White.
In reply to successive questions, it developed that the officer's observation of the man had been made from the opposite side of a dimly lighted street upon a dark night; that he wore the collar of the coat turned up and the vizor of the cap pulled down, that he was in the act of raising an umbrella, and that he walked rapidly, showing no signs of intoxication.
The witness insisted, however, in spite of these facts and with every sign of sincerity, that he was confident of his identification, and it seemed very uncertain if much doubt as to it had been created with the jury.
Detective Miles was the last witness to be called by the State. He was allowed to give his testimony in his own way, which he did conscientiously and in detail, neither omitting or coloring anything that could have bearing upon the case.
He identified the torn letter which had been shown to Benton and Miss Stanton and told of its discovery in White's rooms. It being admitted that it was in the handwriting of White, it was put formally in evidence at the request of the defence, and was then submitted to the jurors among whom it was passed from hand to hand with evident interest.
Littell, upon cross-examination, brought out the fact that the apparel, including the shoes, worn by White on the night of his death showed no evidence of exposure to the weather, and following it up by adroitly put questions as to the condition of his overshoes and umbrella, suggested the improbability of his having been out that night, and prepared the way for his theory that it had been some one else whom the officer had seen clad in the cap and ulster.
Littell knew that he had a favorably disposed witness in Miles and made the most of the opportunity, but there was so little that the detective knew of his own knowledge that it was not of great advantage.
Upon the conclusion of his evidence, the prosecution closed its testimony, and it being then late in the afternoon, the Judge, after consultation with the lawyers, adjourned court till the following day.
After the adjournment I had opportunity to hear expressions of opinion from various members of the bar who had been spectators at the trial and who like myself lingered on the scene for awhile, and I found that while they all agreed that the prosecution had made out its case, there still existed a strong feeling of curiosity regarding the line of defence to be pursued.
It was plain an alibi was out of the question, for while Winters's identification by the night-officer was not fully positive, the subsequent possession by him, on the night of the murder, of one of the missing bills confirmed its correctness beyond any possibility of reasonable dispute.
It was the unanimous opinion, however, that some plausible explanation of his possession of that bill must be forthcoming if the defence entertained any hope of an acquittal, and there were many conjectures as to what the explanation was to be. I could not but be entertained, in spite of my perturbed state of mind, by the unconscious assumption on the part of all who joined in the discussion that the explanation when it should be forthcoming, would evidence in its ingenuity the cleverness of the defence.
So confident was the general opinion of the prisoner's guilt, that it was not even suggested there might be a true explanation available, nor did it seem to occur to any one of them that Littell, with the high professional reputation he possessed, might be unwilling to endorse by his advocacy any other sort. Having accepted the case, they assumed apparently that he would make the most of it, whatever its character or merit might be.
This mental attitude of prejudgment was calculated to work injustice to the defence, because, as I knew, Littell believed in the innocence of his client, and his evidence and his arguments would be conscientiously presented and would represent his convictions and should therefore be received with some measure of credence and respect. To anticipate in them but subterfuge and chicanery was eminently unfair and I felt disposed to take issue then and there with my brother lawyers; but when I reflected that after all it would be the jurors who would decide the case and not those about me I restrained my impulse and went my way in silence.
When I took my seat again the next day and looked about me upon a scene now become familiar, I entertained little hope of the result of the day's proceedings. I knew better than others how meagre was the evidence of the defence and I could not see how the unsupported testimony of the prisoner, even if he were physically capable of giving it coherently, could have much weight; and yet I knew that that was all Littell had to offer. But even I, as I was yet to learn, failed to appreciate the splendid abilities and resources of that man.
When court was opened there was a longer delay than usual over that period of busy idleness that usually precedes the moment of getting down to work, and during this time it was plain from the remarks audible on all sides that every one was awaiting with expectancy the opening statement of Littell, for in it was looked for a key to the line of defence.
Whether Littell felt he could argue the whole case to better advantage at a later stage, or whether he thought it wiser to leave unsatisfied to the latest moment the intense curiosity and interest he knew he had aroused, I do not know; but whatever his reason may have been, when signalled by the Judge, he rose only to say that he had no preliminary statement to make, but would leave it to the prisoner to tell his own story, and therein all the defence knew of the case, to the jury without preface. He added that they would find it a straightforward, credible statement which he believed would carry conviction; that it had been told to him voluntarily, and he was willing the Court and jury should hear it in the same way.
He then called the prisoner to the stand, and I was gratified to see by the inquiring look he directed to Littell as soon as he had taken his place in the witness-box that Winters was fully conscious of what was demanded of him and prepared to meet it.
Littell met his glance encouragingly, and in response asked him to relate all he knew concerning the death of White, and to tell of his own whereabouts and doings about the time of the occurrence.
"Address the jury!" the lawyer concluded, and Winters obediently faced his judges and during all his testimony addressed his words directly to them.
He spoke in a low voice, but very distinctly, each word being audible, and his manner was quiet and entirely free from anything suggesting defiance or cunning.
It is not necessary that I should again repeat his story. It was given just as he had told it to me and subsequently to Littell and as I have already related it, and it seemed to me on this occasion, as on the previous ones, to bear the stamp of truth.
It made an impression, as I could perceive, upon the jury also, but whether any of them believed it or not, I could not tell. The greater part of them I feared were saying to themselves "This man is clever" rather than "This man is innocent."
During the entire recital, Littell kept his attention fixed on the jury, his keen gaze studying each countenance and trying to read there the impression made, but neither by sign nor word did he interrupt or endeavor to lead the witness. Evidently he was playing his best card, and, alas! his only one.
There was a few moments interval after the conclusion of Winters's direct evidence while the prosecution consulted together before the District Attorney began his cross-examination, and during that time Winters sat listlessly in his chair, seemingly indifferent to his surroundings. I think his long siege of trouble and sickness must have more or less stupefied him or have made him callous, perhaps desperate. Whatever the cause, his mental attitude was probably the best possible one under the circumstances as it made it unlikely he would become either nervous or excited.
The cross-examination proved a long and searching one, enough to tax the nerve of any ordinary man, but except for some signs of physical weakness, Winters remained perfectly composed, nor could the lawyers trip him up in any particular. He reiterated his story, piece by piece, in response to their questions, deviating in no particular from his first statement, while in new matters broached by them he was apparently entirely candid.
He admitted the bad feeling he felt towards his cousin and charged it to the unfair provisions of his father's will. He confirmed Benton's testimony that he frequently demanded money of his cousin.
He denied any knowledge of the contents of White's will and also denied that he had ever corresponded in any way with White, or that there was any secret between them. This last was in reply to questions by which the State's officers endeavored unsuccessfully to connect him with the letter found by Miles, as also with the conversation related by Belle Stanton.
In no particular could they break down his testimony. They did, however, show by his own admissions, that he was an idler and a drunkard, and a man of bad reputation and associates, but his answers were so freely given that these facts lost some of their damaging effect. Altogether, he must have made about as favorable an impression as a man in his position could, but I could see no reason to hope that it had done more for him than possibly to excite the interest and in some degree the sympathy of the jury.
When it came to Littell's turn to re-examine, he left his seat and, going over to the prisoner, took him by the arm and raised him to his feet.
"Winters," he said, "I believe you have told all you know of the case, but before you leave the stand, I have one more question to ask you. I want you to tell this jury, and tell them upon the solemn oath you have taken, had you any hand in your cousin's death or any knowledge of it?"
Winters looked at him and then at the jury before he spoke and then answered firmly:
"I had not."
"That is all," Littell said, and the witness returned to his place.
There was a period of expectation,—everyone was waiting for something, you could feel it in the air,—till after awhile Littell, apparently in response to the silent question, leaned forward with a little expression of surprise and said in the most even tones:
"That is all, your Honor, I have no further testimony to offer."
The effect of this announcement was immediate; the air of expectation was banished and astonishment took its place; people exchanged glances of surprise—almost consternation: "Was this all there was to be to the defence; why! there was no defence." You could almost read the words in the expressions of those about you, but Littell seemed undisturbed and after a moment's hesitation the Judge announced an hour's recess with the expectation that the case would be concluded at a late session.
It had been a long morning, for the proceedings had been late in beginning and the testimony of Winters had occupied several hours, and most of those within the rail, that is, those who were assured of regaining admission to the scene, hastened away upon the announcement to make the most of the opportunity for rest and refreshment. Not so with the spectators, however; there was scarcely a movement in that compact mass; for any of them to go was to resign their places to others—and the sacrifice was too great.
I looked toward Littell in the hope that he would join me at lunch, but his head was bent over some papers and if he was conscious of my glance he gave no sign, and so I went out alone.
When I returned he was still in the same attitude and I doubted if he had left his seat. One by one the others dropped in and resumed their places until, when the recess had expired and the session was resumed, all was in readiness to proceed.
There was some delay, however, while the State's officers engaged in earnest consultation, till the attention of the Judge being attracted thereby, he looked up and peering inquiringly over his glasses in their direction said: "Well, gentlemen, are we ready?" At this the junior arose and asked permission to recall the defendant. General surprise was manifest at this request, and Littell offered prompt objection to its concession. In a few words he called attention to the fact that there had been no such re-direct examination of the defendant as to afford occasion for re-cross, and further insisted that as the witness had been permitted to leave the stand he could not be recalled; and he added pointedly that the prisoner was too exhausted to stand the strain of further examination—which fact his brother lawyers knew and were seeking to turn to their advantage. When, at the conclusion of these words, the District Attorney arose with severe mien to reply himself in place of his junior, I knew there was coming the usual indignant protest of injured innocence, and I listened with indifference to its eloquent vindication and then to the argument that followed. It was the first tilt of the trial between counsel and as usual proved a source of entertainment to the spectators, but to me it was weariness. Still, I gave attention while the lawyer told why he wished to recall the witness and why he should be allowed to do so, and argued that he had never said he was through with the witness and had never closed his case—through all of which the junior nodded approval, and Littell looked bored and occasionally interrupted, and the Judge remained expressionless—and so it went on and meanwhile the daylight faded in the room and the gas was lighted and the atmosphere, already oppressive, became almost stifling in its heat, and the crowd moved restlessly and men yawned, and I listened and listened in dull consciousness till, feeling satisfied that in the end the Court would rule for the defence, I slipped quietly from the room. Littell's summing up could alone affect the final result now, and in the meanwhile the quiet and the cool air of the corridor were welcome.
As I paced up and down smoking a cigar and weighing in my mind the chances of the trial, I would occasionally get a momentary glimpse into the court-room as the door would swing open to permit the exit of some other weary spectator like myself, and in the hot glare of the gaslights the scene within would be visible through the doorway like a picture within a frame, the court with all its surrounding functionaries, the figure of the speaker gesticulating as he addressed the Judge, the form of the prisoner bowed and still between his guards, and in the foreground the dense throng of spectators, all in vivid relief.
I can close my eyes and recall that picture even to this hour, but never without a feeling of overwhelming melancholy; so strong are the impressions some things leave upon us.
After a while there was a stir within and some one said that the Court had sustained the objection of the defence and declined to permit the recall of the defendant, and that Littell was about to begin his final argument, and so I hurried back. He was already on his feet in the centre of the room and facing the jury. He had neither books nor memoranda by him and evidently relied upon his memory for all he meant to say.
His voice was deep and serious when he began to speak:
"I have been practising my profession, as your Honor knows, for forty years and this is the first as it is the last time that I appear before a criminal tribunal; only a sense of imperative duty as a lawyer and as a man has brought me here to-day; could I with a clear conscience have escaped this solemn duty, I would have done so, but a call higher than has ever appealed to me before has summoned me to the side of a man who is being wronged, and therefore it is I am here.
"I am without the resources of my brother lawyers accustomed to practise in this court and I have, therefore, no facts to submit, except those presented by the witnesses for the State, and no evidence to offer, except that of the prisoner himself.
"I believe the evidence of the State's witnesses to be substantially true and therefore have made no effort to cast doubt upon it, and I believe the testimony of the prisoner to be true, and, therefore, I rely upon it."
Then in a more conversational tone he addressed himself to the jury.
"The unusual feature of this case," he said, "is that while the testimony of the State would seem to make out the guilt of the prisoner, his own story makes out his innocence, and yet both are uncontradicted and are consistent with each other. I wish you to keep this in mind, because, if it be as I say and the story of the prisoner be not incredible, you cannot convict him; you must remember it is not the duty of the defence to prove the innocence of the accused, but that of the prosecution to establish his guilt.
"It is going to be my effort now to demonstrate to you the truth of what I have said by an analysis of the evidence, and then I am going to do what is more than is demanded of me as counsel for the defendant,—I am going to try and point out to you not only the possibility of its having been some one else than the accused who committed this deed, but who that some one was."
Then he took up the evidence piece by piece and analyzed it. Every doubt, every possibility in the case, which he and I had so often discussed together, was developed and presented to the jury in its strongest phase, till there appeared to be left no possible theory of the crime that could make consistent all the facts.
The State's case seemed torn to shreds, and its evidence, which but a few moments before had seemed plain as day in its application, was now full of unsolvable mystery. I waited breathlessly to see where his wonderful logic and eloquence would finally lead him and us, while the jury hung in spellbound attention on his every word. Then, when he had each one helplessly at sea looking eagerly to him for some explanation that would fit the case and solve its doubts, he turned abruptly to the dock and pointing to the prisoner, said:
"Forget that man; he did not do it! You must start afresh in this case if you are to find the murderer!
"I may not tell you who he is; that is not my duty; but I will tell you what sort of a man he is, and why and how he did this deed.
"It is all so plain that he who runs may read.
"It was a man in White's own station in life, a man who knew him and knew his ways, his haunts, his very nature.
"A man who was implicated with him in some wrong-doing and feared for his own safety while the weaker vessel shared the dangerous secret with him.
"A man of pride whose reputation was dear to him; a man of resource and determination; one who did not know fear or hesitation.
"That man, whoever he may be,—and such a one only killed White,—was the man for whom that half-written letter full of reproach and threats was meant, and it was such threats as those that drove him on to his terrible deed.
"He came there that night after I and the others had left; he came probably to expostulate, or to plead, but he found the victim in a sleep, heavy from drink, and the weapon was at hand and it was the easier and the shorter and the sure way, and he killed him.
"Then he put on the cap and ulster to disguise himself and he stuffed the money that was on the table in the pocket to mislead simple people and as he hurried away from the scene one bill dropped in the vestibule, where Winters, as he said, found it.
"The ulster and the other bills he left at the house of Belle Stanton, the place most likely again to confound the simple-minded, because the place where White was most apt to go at all hours.
"Now that I have told how and why the crime was done, let the police go and find their man and bring him to you, and not ask you to make good their shortcomings by convicting this innocent prisoner.
"Acquit him! Let him go free! He is only his own enemy! No such weakling ever did that deed! He is incapable of it! I tell you he is innocent! I know it!"
His voice, which had been growing more and more impassioned till each note vibrated through the room, suddenly ceased and absolute stillness followed, till the voice of the Judge was heard addressing him in a low tone.
"Mr. Littell," he was saying, "I cannot allow you to give your own opinions to the jury; it is contrary to the practice; you must confine yourself to the evidence."
Littell stood erect, listening to the remonstrating words, and when they were concluded, replied gravely:
"I have undertaken the defence of this man, your Honor, and the obligation it carries with it is above the rules of practice. That prisoner is innocent and I have only told this jury so, as was my duty. I have no more to say"; and he turned away and resumed his seat, but not till the last echo of his words had ceased did a man move in the court-room. All eyes remained fixed on the lawyer—unable to break the spell he had put upon them. That a change had come over the feelings of all there, could be felt.
How much conviction he had carried to the Judge and jury, or how much of only wonder and uncertainty it was that I saw written in their faces, I could not tell, but all signs of listless indifference were gone, and in their place was tense feeling. I felt as though the wonderful insight of this man had worked a revelation. I had expected a great argument, but this word-picture of the nameless criminal and his crime was dreadful in its realism.
When the District Attorney rose to begin his closing argument, he acted like a man confounded by an unexpected proposition, and groped about amid legal generalities till he felt his way. Then he caustically referred to his opponent's closing sentences as a brilliant bit of fancy fitting for a place in a stage setting, but with no proper place among the real things of life, and he admonished the jury to put it aside from their consideration till they should have dealt with the serious facts before them.
Then he proceeded to a review of the case and again arrayed in order all the damaging facts of the evidence, which seemed to fix the crime on Winters. Throughout he received the close attention of the jury, but that he was entirely successful in eradicating the effect of Littell's speech seemed very doubtful.
After he had finished, the Judge charged the jury. His review of the evidence was fair and impartial, but it necessarily told against the prisoner, to whose testimony he would only allow its proper balance of weight.
He hesitated before he referred to Littell's argument as if doubtful just how to treat it, but at length said that the theories of the counsel could be considered only in so far as the evidence bore them out.
He might have said more, but he, too, I thought, was unable to overcome entirely the effect the speech had had upon him.
He then directed that the jury retire to decide upon their verdict, and announced to the lawyers his intention of waiting till twelve o'clock for their decision, in case they should reach an agreement by that time.
When the Judge retired, most of the spectators and witnesses left the court-room, but the lawyers and reporters gathered about the trial table as is their custom—in interested discussion of the case. Littell, however, sat aside to himself with his head resting on his hand in a deep study. Several endeavored to congratulate him, but he only shook his head and turned away.
"I fear it has been of no avail," he said to me. He was evidently thinking of the prisoner and not of himself. I refrained from any comment, but was doubtful of the State's chances of securing a verdict, and there were many opinions expressed to the same effect. The very persons who during the recess had taken conviction as a foregone conclusion were now not only doubtful of the verdict, but in some instances, I thought, even doubtful of the prisoner's guilt. No stronger evidence of Littell's masterful conduct of the case would have been needed even had the general opinion on the subject not been outspoken, but through it all Littell sat by indifferent.
Time passed and when the hour of twelve came around, the Judge returned to the bench and all was decorum again.
A bailiff was sent to inquire if the jury had agreed.
It was but a matter of form, for all knew that had they done so, they would have reported it voluntarily; but still each man kept his place and waited with nervous expectation, while the court sat to receive the reply. In a few minutes the messenger returned and reported that there was no present prospect of an agreement that night, whereupon the court adjourned until ten in the morning.