CHAPTER XXX
Thetrial had been going hard with Darcy, as little Lib had surmised. Even the old Judge had been crabbed in some of his orders, and thrown anxious glances among the witnesses searching in vain for some ray of hope. He loved Darcy and things seemed to be going against him.
Not for one minute in his heart of hearts did Judge Peterson believe that Darcy Sherwood was guilty of such things as he was being charged with, and when he stood up straight and handsome in the prisoner’s box to answer to the question: “Guilty or not Guilty?” he had admired the straight, clear look with which he faced the roomful of curious enemies and anxious friends. Slowly Darcy had swept the room with his glance as if searching for one on whom he could rely. Anxiously his eyes rested on his sister Ellen, sitting huddled behind her handkerchief, and on the little shrinking Lib, looking so fierce beside her, surprisedly on the minister and his wife, taking in their kindly faces, something true and real about them. He knew they were Joyce’s friends and he liked their being there. There was nothing hostile about them. Then his gaze wandered to the four men huddled together in a corner with Tyke spreading himself as their leader, making loud mouthed remarks and casting furtive, sidelong glances, keeping his eyes away from the prisoner. Darcy took them in half amusedly, wholly comprehending, almost a smile of contempt flitting across his face, before he turned deliberately and faced his enemy, Gene, andlooked him keenly down with a cold, righteous glance. Then he turned back to the Judge and said quietly, “Not Guilty, Your Honor,” as if there had been no pause between the question and the answer. The Judge found himself watching the boy and wondering where he got his poise, his cool calm look, that might almost be described as that of peace.
From the start Darcy sat in his place and watched each actor in the little scene before him as if he were somehow outside of it all, detached from the whole thing, as if the outcome were of little moment to him, only the persons.
Darcy had not asked for a lawyer. In fact, he had refused one. He would not ask anybody to help him, nor tell anything that would give a clue to where he had been or what he had been doing. He had told them he would plead his own cause when the time came.
So the evidence went on. Witnesses were sworn in and testified to the most unpleasant details in a well constructed tale of horror. Tyke was clever, but Bill was sharp, and what the two of them could not think out the canny Cottar did. They had left no question unprepared for, no weak places in their line of evidence. They even had an old flashlight of Darcy’s they had found where he had left it last at one of their meeting places, and most carefully had they preserved it without handling that the finger prints might be observed. Obligingly Darcy put out his fingers for the impression, that smile of half amusement on his lips. So well he understood the revenge that was working all this elaborate network of lies to catch him.
Yet as the evidence went on he began to realize how cleverly it had been done, and how only a miracle of somekind could save him. He sat gravely watching it all, listening. Now and then jotting down a note for his own reply when his time came, but for the most part, gravely listening, and the day went on and blacker grew the evidence against him. The excitement in the court-room was great. There were not wanting gruesome details and Darcy’s face grew stern and his soul sick within him. To think that Joyce should, through him, be mixed up in a loathsome mess like this! He would rather have died a thousand deaths than to have had her name connected in such wise.
The spectators were strained to the highest point. Nan, heavily veiled and weeping, was most affected. When it came her turn to testify she told of the beautiful relation between herself and Joyce, but said that Joyce was very secretive and went out a good deal evenings, staying late. Once during Bill’s blunt testimony she screamed and fainted and had to be taken out, but insisted on coming back again. And hourly the look of suffering grew on Darcy’s face, as if the ordeal were actual physical pain. But once, there was a little relaxing of the strain, when old Noah Casey took the stand, and was asked to swear that he would tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
He climbed into his place and laid a trembling, knotted hand upon the book, but when they asked him to swear he smiled about upon them and shook his head.
“My mother taught me not to swear,” he said serenely, while the four who were sponsoring him frowned and cursed beneath their breath.
He stood there looking about on the throng, his quick bright eyes travelling from one face to another, half suspiciousof them all, half frightened like a wild thing of the woods. And when the people laughed he laughed with them at himself. The difficulty about the oath over, he told his story, eagerly, somewhat like a child, in short hurried sentences, his bright eyes still hurrying over the audience, his long nervous fingers fingering the brim of his old felt hat. “I was going acrost the medder—” he began, “ahint of the graveyard—” and Gene’s lawyer helped him out with questions. “You saw a bundle on the ground like a human body—” the bright eyes focused on the lawyer an instant.
“No, it was broken glass. Leastways that’s what I thought I saw. They tell me—” The lawyer hurried into another question, and the Judge interrupted:
“Suppose you look around, Noah, and tell me if you can see the man you saw that night digging in the graveyard?”
The bright eyes focused on the Judge, and then turned quickly toward Tyke. The lawyer hastened with his assistance.
“Was it this man, Noah?” he pointed to the prisoner.
Noah Casey turned around toward the box where Darcy sat and saw Darcy for the first time:
“What!Him?” he asked, pointing with a long finger at Darcy who regarded him with a grin of friendliness.
“Why, no, that’s Darcy Sherwood. I knowhim. I’ve knowed him since he was a little tad. Oh, no, it wa’n’t Darcy.He’sa good boy. He wouldn’t do such a thing. The man I saw had red ha—”
But Gene’s lawyer raised his voice:
“Your Honor, I am disappointed in this witness. Mentally he does not seem to be quite all that I supposed—”
“Undoubtedly—” said the Judge under his breath, and Noah was hustled off the scene.
But the afternoon came on and somehow the false witnesses were making a pretty good case of it against Darcy. The Judge’s eyebrows were drawn in a heavy frown and his breath came quick and deep. Those who knew him well knew that he was troubled, and it was just then that Dan’s note was handed up.
No one but Darcy noticed the twinkle that came in the Judge’s eyes, and he wondered and tried to puzzle it out. The Judge was his friend he knew, and wanted to see him cleared, but surely all hope was gone. The evidence was all on one side. Why prolong the agony? It almost seemed as if the Judge were trying to keep the case going, trying to make time. He asked the most trivial questions and tripped up the lawyer again and again, holding a witness far beyond necessity.
All at once the Judge drew a long breath and a light came in his eye. He sat back as if he were done, and ordered that the prisoner be allowed to speak for himself.
The leather door at the back of the court-room had swung noiselessly but that moment, and little Lib had entered, straight and beaming, and behind her walked a lady, and Dan Peterson. Darcy gave one glance and then arose, and there was a new light in his face. It was almost as if he had come to a triumphant moment, instead of being about to plead for his life in the face of indubitable evidence against him. Those who were watching noticed with a shock that he actually had a kind of smile on his face, and a look of something—could it be peace? What utter nonsense! Perhaps he was going out of hismind. Any one might, having to listen to such a list of his own horrible crimes!
But Darcy was speaking in his quiet tone:
“It almost seems a pity to add anything after such well established evidence as you all have heard. If I didn’t know I wasn’t guilty I would almost think I was after listening to what has been said. So I won’t try to argue in my own favor. I see Miss Joyce Radway herself has just come in, and I’m going to ask if she may come up here and tell you whether I ever abducted her, or murdered her, or buried her.”
Then indeed there was a great stir in the court-room. People stretched their necks to see, and rose up in their seats, but the Judge commanded silence. Under cover of the confusion Tyke attempted an escape, but was stopped by order of the watchful Judge.
Joyce came to the front of the room, proudly escorted by Lib who held her hand to the very witness stand and then stood by with glad eyes to watch her.
Joyce turned and faced the excited throng, then looking toward her old friend, Judge Peterson, she spoke in clear, ringing tones that everybody could hear:
“Your Honor, I haven’t seen Mr. Sherwood but once since I left home a year ago to go to Silverton and teach. Mr. Sherwood does not know I saw him then. He was making a speech in a religious service in the city where I happened to be one evening, and it was a good speech too. I wish you could have heard it. I tried to get up to speak to him but the crowd was so great that he was gone before I got to the platform.”
She turned her face toward the court-room a little more, looking down at the seats where the witnesses sat,and noticing with startled eyes the man of the loud voice who had addressed her as “girlie” on that memorable morning one year ago.
“I don’t know what you have been trying to do to my old friend, Mr. Sherwood, or where you got such utter lies. I went away from Meadow Brook because I wanted to teach and I knew my relatives were opposed to my doing it. I did not realize that I could be misunderstood or make trouble for anybody by doing so, but my going certainly had nothing whatever to do with Darcy Sherwood. We have seldom seen each other since we were school children together, and he has always been most kind and gentlemanly to me whenever I have met him.
“I happened to see an old copy of theMeadow Brook Newsthis morning and read to my horror what you were saying about him and me. It made me sick that my old friends and my relatives could allow such an awful charge to be made on such a man as Darcy Sherwood. I had to get somebody to take my place in school while I came here, and I was afraid I wouldn’t get here in time before you did something dreadful you could never be forgiven for. But I’m glad I came, and I’m—ashamedof you all.”
If any one had been looking at Darcy then they would have seen a wonderful look in his eyes, but everybody’s attention was centred on Joyce. There had not been such a sensation in Meadow Brook in years as the dead coming to life just in time to save a tragedy.
The Judge stood up and addressed Darcy. His voice was trembling. He was very unjudgelike in his manner.
“My boy, you are free from the charge and the court dismisses the case.” He was smiling and there was something like a mist in his eyes.
Darcy inclined his head slightly.
“Your Honor, I thank you. I am glad to be exonerated from a crime that I did not commit; but I want to ask your permission now to confess to one that I did. I want to take the penalty, whatever it is, and be cleared in the eyes of the law forever.”
The court-room grew suddenly hushed. People who had risen and begun to adjust wraps and pick up their gloves sat down again. All ears were strained to hear every word.
“You have my permission,” said the Judge looking instantly grave and anxious. “Is the attorney here to take down the confession? Mr. Robinson—”
There was a little stir in the room while the attorney came forward, and then Darcy went on:
“For several months prior to the time last spring when I left town I had been in the bootlegging business.”
“Oh!—Ah!” were whispered here and there with nods of previous conviction from people who had been half disappointed to have the trial turn out so well.
“I gave it up because I had come to feel that it was wrong. I confess it now because I want to pay the penalty of what I have done. Judge, I will be glad if you will put this through as soon as possible. I am ready to take what is coming to me.”
The Judge bowed gravely. There was no denying that he looked relieved.
“This will have to go through the regular routine of course,” he said, “but it can be run through quickly. Mr. Robinson, you get the items, number of cases sold and so on; prepare the indictment, and we’ll try to get it through tomorrow.”
The Judge straightened up and looked about him, his eyes resting on the four witnesses, holding their hats ready for a speedy departure, and at that moment the district attorney jumped up briskly.
“Your Honor,” he said. “I ask that these four witnesses be held for perjury.”
A murmur of satisfaction went rippling over the court-room as people rose to go out.
People were rushing around Joyce as she came out, still escorted by little Lib, proud as a small peacock. Nan was the first to envelop her in a smothering embrace, weeping copiously upon her neck with loud show of affection. Many old friends lingered, waiting just to watch her dear face alight with the relief and triumph of the moment. The minister and his wife were close behind Joyce and eagerly asked her to come home with them.
“No,” put in Nan decidedly, “She’s coming to herownhome of course. Everything in your room is just as you left it,darling—”
Joyce couldn’t help smiling at the affectionate appellative.
“For pity’s sake get rid of that awful child, and come on,” whispered Nan loudly. “Don’t let her hang on you like that. Let’s get out of this terrible crowd! How curious people are! Come on home!”
Poor little Lib dropped Joyce’s arm as if she had been shot, but Joyce quickly caught the little cold hand and drew it back close within her arm, her own warm fingers keeping the little hand clasped tight.
“I want her here, Nan. She is my dear little friend,” said Joyce pleasantly.
“For mercy’s sake! You always had such queer friends, Joyce,” she laughed disagreeably. “Well, never mind, bring her along, only come on!”
But Dan Peterson’s hand was on Joyce’s shoulder.
“No, Mrs. Massey, Joyce is coming with us. Father wants to see her right away at home,” and off he carried Joyce and Lib in his own big shiny car, while Nan tried to hide her chagrin by taking to herself reflected glory, and trying to make a little social hay while the sun shone.
Joyce went home with the Petersons and was presently sitting in Judge Peterson’s library, learning about her inheritance, and being prepared for the reading of the will which was to come after supper as soon as the Masseys could be summoned to the hearing.
But all the time her mind was on the listen, and she was hoping that Darcy would come. Surely, surely he would come and speak to her, just thank her or something. He had been busy with the attorney when she left the court-room, and had flashed her just one gorgeous smile as she looked back at him. Had she been mistaken? Surely there was a promise in that glance, that he would see her again. She wondered why everything seemed to have suddenly gone so flat. She ought to go back of course on the night train and be ready to teach on the morrow, but her heart was not willing to go—not yet—and Judge Peterson presently settled the matter by saying that she would be needed the next day for the technicalities of the settlement of the estate.
So she sent a telegram to Harrington:
“Will be back to teach Monday morning. Cannot possibly come sooner.(Signed)J. Radway.”
“Will be back to teach Monday morning. Cannot possibly come sooner.
(Signed)J. Radway.”