CHAPTER XXXI.THE ARREST.
Jack Percy had been lain to rest beside his father and mother and old Roger in the family cemetery at Beechwood. The rain, which fell so heavily in Oak City, extended as far as Washington, and the Percy party were shivering with cold and drenched to the skin when they returned to the hotel. Mrs. Percy’s house was rented for the summer, and Paul had secured rooms at the Arlington,—the best the house could give him, for he knew that the luxury of handsome surroundings would do much towards comforting Clarice. It was to have been their wedding day, and the sharp contrast was bitter and hard to bear. He had suggested that they be married quietly at once and go away by themselves, but Clarice would not listen.
“I was not so kind to Jack while living that I can afford to insult his memory now,” she said. “Six months is as soon as I can possibly consider it.”
In her heavy black she did not look much like the brilliant bride Paul had hoped to have that day, and his stay at the Arlington was anything but pleasant, and he was very glad when the day came to return home. Had he known what was before him, he would have shrunk from it in fear; but he did not know, and with every moment was drawing nearer to his fate. Some of those who saw Paul pass Miss Hansford’s cottage just before the shooting, and had heard what Elithe said, had told what they heard and saw, while the revolver, with “P. R.” upon it, had been found in Miss Hansford’s linen chest, and Oak City was in a ferment of excitement. At first, the public talked in whispers behind closed doors,—then aloud in the streets, where knots of people gathered to repeat and hear the last bit of gossip and conjecture. The suicide theory had been exploded as impossible, and the coroner and jury denounced as fools for their haste and decision; but, if Jack did not do the shooting, who did? Hundreds asked that question, and at first no one answered it, but repeated the story going the rounds so fast. Jack had knocked Paul Ralston down in the morning at the hotel. In the afternoon he had started, presumably, to see his sister. He had been traced to the Baptist Tabernacle and had taken a short cut through the woods. He was probably intoxicated and had fallen or lain down behind a clump of scrub oaks and been shot, the assassin firing low, as if he knew he was there. Paul Ralston had been very indignant at being knocked down and had used some threatening language. He had passed Miss Hansford’s cottage not long before the shot was fired and was known to have been in search of Jack. Miss Hansford and others had spoken with him. Elithe had seen him fire and throw the revolver away, and then hurry off in the direction of the woods. Jack had been found afew minutes later weltering in his blood. Seth Walker had found the revolver with “P. R.” upon it and handed it to Miss Hansford, who acted like a crazy woman, while Elithe, who saw the shooting, refused to be interviewed.
This story was followed by the news that the revolver had been hidden in Miss Hansford’s chest and that the bullet extracted from Jack’s head fitted one of the chambers. After this those who had said the whole was a lie, held their peace. There could be but one conclusion as to the guilty party and his name was spoken sadly, for Paul Ralston was the most popular man in Oak City, and it seemed like sacrilege to associate him with the tragedy. That he did not intend it everybody was certain, though how he could take deliberate aim and hit the mark so sure was a question. Had he at once come forward and said, “It was an accident; I didn’t know he was there,” nearly everybody would have believed him; but he had kept quiet and never seemed conscious of the danger threatening him.
“What ought we to do?” was asked many times a day during the time Paul was in Washington, and the answer was always the same, “The law must take its course were he ten times Paul Ralston.”
A few there were, as in all communities, who, jealous of Paul’s position or money, or, fancying some slight put upon them when none was intended, were open in their denunciations.
“If he were a poor man you would have no hesitancy as to what you should do. He’d be arrested at once, but because he is a big bug you are disposed to let him go.”
Tom was furious when he heard such remarks. He was ready to swear that Paul could not have been near the place where the shooting occurred, but there was the testimonyof Miss Hansford’s lodgers, who saw and spoke with him, and of Elithe, and Tom’s bare word went for nothing. He kept the rumors from the judge and Mrs. Ralston, who were expecting Paul on the 4 o’clock Wednesday boat and would have gone to meet him but for Mrs. Ralston’s indisposition. Two or three times while harnessing the horses Tom decided to tell the judge and ask him to go with him in case there should be trouble. Then he changed his mind, saying, “Maybe they won’t do anything. I’ll not trouble the judge till I see what they mean to do.”
He had not much doubt of their intentions when he saw the crowd waiting for the boat just coming to the wharf, and setting his teeth together he clenched his fists and waited. From the deck Paul had seen the swarm of human beings, greater than when he went away, and called Clarice’s attention to it, wondering why the whole town was out and if some noted personage were expected.
“They expectus,” Clarice said, feeling somewhat gratified by this attention and never guessing why it was paid to them.
Their long crape veils covered her and her mother entirely, and between the two black figures, Paul left the boat among the first and walked across the pier lined with curious spectators, to whom he bowed and smiled in his old familiar way, noticing the expression of their faces and thinking how sorry they were for him and Clarice. She did not see them, but it was impossible that the intense feeling pervading the crowd should not communicate itself to her in some small degree, and she was very nervous by the time the Ralston carriage was reached. Tom Drake was standing there, more alarmed and anxious than he had ever been in his life, as he saw the people pressing around Paul, who was coming towards him with a smile on his face as if glad tobe home. Standing close to the carriage steps was Max Allen, the young constable, new to the office, which Paul had helped him get by giving him money for the campaign. He was shaking like a leaf and scarcely able to respond to Paul’scheery “How are you, Max?”
Now was the supreme moment for which the gaping crowd were waiting and over it there fell a hush of expectancy,—a silence so profound that Paul looked round inquiringly and saw those on the outer edge of the jam elbowing their way nearer to him.
“This is attention with a vengeance,” he thought. “I dare say Clarice will feel gratified when it is over and she has time to realize it, but it must annoy her now.”
It was anything but gratifying to the young lady when she felt her black bombazine dress stepped on behind and herself pulled back with a jerk.
“This is too much. Let’s get out of it,” she said, grasping the skirt of her dress and springing into the carriage before her mother and without Paul’s help.
He was offering his hand to Mrs. Percy, when Max touched his arm and with a thickness of speech which made his words nearly unintelligible, began: “Mr. Ralston, I want to speak with you a minute. But no,—I’ll be darned if I can now. Take the ladies home first, and come back to the church. I’ll wait for you.”
“All right,” Paul said, wondering what Max had to say to him, and why he was so excited.
Entering the carriage and taking off his hat he bowed right and left to the people, feeling some like a conquering hero as he drove through their midst, knowing for a surety now that they were there to see him and Clarice.
“Careful, Tom, you’ll run over somebody,” he said, asTom gave the horses a smart cut, which set them into a gallop.
“I wish I might kill ’em,” Tom muttered, slackening his speed when out on the avenue and away from the crowd.
He was in no hurry to get back to it again and sat very patiently while Paul accompanied the ladies into the house and said a few loving words to Clarice, who sank down in a fit of sobbing, saying she could not bear it.
“Yes you can, darling. Try and be brave,—for your mother’s sake and mine. You have me left, you know, and by and by we shall be very happy,” Paul said, himself removing her bonnet and making her lie down upon the couch.
Then, kissing her and promising to see her again after dinner, he left her and bade Tom drive to the church to see what Max Allen wanted.
“Your mother is sick. Hadn’t we better go straight home and let Max run?” Tom suggested, but Paul said, “No, it won’t take long to see what he wants;” and they started in the direction of the church, where some of the crowd still waited.
They had expected some demonstration,—handcuffs, perhaps,—and a scene, and when the carriage drove away with Paul in it the murmur of their voices was like the sound of a wind sweeping over a plain. Max was questioned as to what it meant, and replied, “No, by George, I couldn’t do it right before his gal. I’d rather be licked than do it at all, and if I’s you I’d go home. He don’t want you gapin’ at him when he’s took.”
Most of the people followed Max’s advice, and went home. A few, with less delicacy, staid to see what Paul would say and how he would look. Would he resist? Would he try to get away?
“No, sir,” some one replied. “He’ll face it like a man. He’s innocent as you be of meanin’ to do it.”
“Then why don’t he own up and say ’twas a mistake? It looks bad for him to keep mum,” was the answer, and the battle of words went on till the carriage was seen coming towards the church green, where Max was waiting, dripping with perspiration and whiter than his shirt color.
Tom saw that quite a number of people still remained, and thought of the old gladiatorial fights when men and women went to see human beings and wild beasts tear each other to pieces. There were germs of the same nature in this crowd, which he would like to have annihilated as he drove past it and stopped before the church steps.
“Now, Max, what is it? What can I do for you? Want some more money?” Paul said, going up to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Set down,” Max answered stammeringly, moving along.
But Paul did not sit down. He was in a hurry to get home and see his mother, and anxious for Max to finish his business.
It must have something to do with the people still waiting there, and who he saw at a glance were largely of the lower class, reputed robbers of gardens and hen roosts. Probably some of their friends had been prowling on the Ralston premises, and Max wanted to know what to do with them.
“I shall tell him to let the poor devils go,” he was thinking, when Max began: “It’s the all-firedest, meanest thing I ever had anything to do with, and if I’d ’er known I’d have to do it, I’d never been so crazy for the office. No, sir! You must not blame me, I’d rather be thrashed. Yes, sir,—and I feel awfully sick at the pit of my stomach. Didn’t eat a thing for dinner, thinking of it, and not much for breakfast,I don’t believe a word of it, neither; none of us does. It’s a lie out of whole cloth.”
He was mopping his wet face with his soiled hands and leaving streaks of dirt on it while Paul looked at him in amazement and Tom stood looking on as if ready to strike when the time came.
“For Heaven’s sake, Max, what are you talking about. Come to the point. I’m in a hurry,” Paul said.
“Yes,” Tom growled. “Come to the point and not act like a cat playing with a mouse.”
“I wish I was a cat, or anything but the blooming fool I am,” Max gasped, and then nerving himself with a mighty effort, he said, “I’ve orders to arrest you. Oh, my Lord, my Lord.”
The last words were wrung from him by the pallor on Paul’s face, as he grasped the carriage wheel for support.
“Arrest me! For what?” he asked, his voice sounding to himself a hundred miles away.
“You see,” Max continued, still husky and shaky, “it’s for shooting Mr. Percy.”
He did not use the ugly wordmurderand it was a singular fact that it was never used during the trying scenes which followed Paul’s arrest. It was sometimes killing, oftener shooting, but never murder. One could not associate that word with Paul, whose face was spotted with astonishment, but not with fear. How could he be afraid, knowing his own innocence? It had never occurred to him that Jack came to his death by any other hand than his own, and the intimation that he was to be arrested struck him like a thunderbolt.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “Jack shot himself. The coroner’s inquest said so. I didn’t do it. I wasnot near there. I didn’t know it till some one told me. Who was it, Tom? Do you remember?”
His chin and lips quivered as he asked the question and he leaned more heavily against the wheel of the carriage. Tom did not reply, and Max went on: “Lord bless you, that’s so. You didn’t do it, but somebody did, and the law must be vin-di-ca-ted, they say. Somebody must be arrested, and so they took you. You see, it’s this way. That coroner didn’t know beans, nor the jury neither, hurryin’ up things before anybody had time to think, or tell what they seen and heard. When they did begin to talk, didn’t it go like chain lightnin’;—the inquest and verdict was knocked into a cocked hat,—more’s the pity; better of let it stood and not get me inter this scrape, arrestin’you. This is what they say. Mr. Percy knocked you down, and made you mad. You was heard to say you’d like to kill him. You was lookin’ for him. The folks at Miss Hansford’s seen you go by. Miss Elithe seen you shoot and throw the pistol away and cut for the woods. Seth Walker found it with your initials on it and give it to Miss Hansford the mornin’ Mr. Percy died. She hid it in her chist with sheets and things. Seth told his wife and she told all creation and they’ve made the old lady give it up, and the bullet fits it exactly. Quite a case of circumstantial, but I don’t believe a word of it. Nobody does. Mebby you shot him, but ’twas an accident, and all you have to do is to say so and explain. Folks thought you would when you got back. Anyway I’ve got to do my duty and it makes me sweat like a butcher. Oh, Lord, Lord!”
Max had finished his speech, which covered the whole ground, and advanced a step towards Paul still clinging to the wheel into the spokes of which he had thrust his arm as he listened. At the beginning of Max’s story he had held hishead high, conscious of his own innocence and that no evidence could be brought against him. But as Max went on he felt the ground slipping from under his feet and saw by inspiration the chain of circumstances which was to encircle him.
“Elithe saw me shoot, and Miss Hansford hid my revolver! Oh, Max,—Oh, Tom, what does it mean?” he said, shaking until his knees bent under him.
“Don’t blame the old lady,” Max said. “She’s madder ‘n a hen, and ready to fight everybody. Last night at prayer meetin’ she hollered so loud for the Lord to save the innocent, you could hear her all over the island. Some thought ’twas a fire alarm and was goin’ to call out the department. They say the amens was powerful. As for the little girl, what she seen slipped out before she thought, and you can’t get a word from her now. I’ll bet there’s been forty reporters there to see her. She’s cryin’ her eyes out, they say, and won’t see a soul.”
Here was a grain of comfort and Paul pulled himself up, but put out a hand to Tom. “Did you know all this?” he asked, and Tom replied, “I knew something of it, but don’t take it so hard. You shall not be harmed. Lean on me and sit down on the steps.”
He passed his arm around his master, who was weak as a baby and glad to sit where Tom put him.
“Does father know it?” Paul asked, and Tom replied, “No, I kept it from him, hoping nothing would happen. He ought to know it now. Shall I go for him?”
“Yes, yes. Go for father. Max will wait,” Paul answered eagerly, bowing his head and resting his face in his hands.
Several boys had come close up to him, wondering why Max did not produce handcuffs, as they supposed he would.These Tom dispersed with his whip and then the two black horses went tearing across the causeway towards the Ralston House, their feet striking fire on the pavement and their mouths white with foam. Mrs. Ralston was lying down in her room with something which threatened to be the Grippe, but the judge was sitting upon the side piazza waiting for Tom. The boat had been gone nearly an hour. It was surely time unless something had happened. Perhaps they didn’t come, he was thinking, when he saw the horses running at their utmost speed, the carriage rocking from side to side, and Tom evidently having some trouble to keep his seat.
“Is he drunk, or what?” the judge said, hastening out to meet him and asking with some severity: “What’s to pay, that you are driving like this? I never saw the off-horse sweat so.”
“The Old Harry’s to pay,” Tom answered. “They are arresting Mr. Paul down by the church for shooting Mr. Percy. You must go quick and stop it.”
“Arresting my son for shooting Jack Percy! Are you crazy? The thing is preposterous,—impossible!” the judge exclaimed, with the voice and manner of one who does not think any great calamity can come to him because it never has.
“It’s true, though, and the town’s alive with it. Jump in! don’t wait a minute.”
The judge had come out without his hat, which, in his excitement, he forgot entirely as he sprang into the carriage and was driven bare-headed, with his white hair blowing in the wind, to the church where Paul was sitting on the steps, with Max beside him, a picture of perplexity and despair.
“Oh, father, I am so glad you have come. You know itis not true,” Paul said, lifting his face, across which there flashed a ray of hope that with his father near no harm could befall him.
“What does this mean? I don’t understand it,” the judge asked Max, who began to tell his story with a great many apologies for being mixed up in it and saying he didn’t believe it, but had to do his duty.
Something the judge said made Paul exclaim, “Oh, father, you do not believe I did it either by mistake or otherwise!”
During the rapid ride the judge had learned all Tom knew of the matter. Max had added a good deal which Tom had not told, and just for one instant the father wavered, not with a thought that the act was premeditated, but that it was an accident which could be explained. Before he was elected judge he had been a prominent criminal lawyer, with a wide reputation for his skill in cross-questioning, and now he said to his son, “Tom tells me you were not near the spot,—that you had no firearms about you,—that you knew nothing of the shooting until some time after it happened. Is this true?”
“Yes, it is true, and true, too, that I was looking for Jack when I passed Miss Hansford’s cottage. I wanted to give him a message from Clarice. I must have passed near where he was lying, but did not see him. I made a detour in the woods thinking to find him. I went as far as the old brick kiln and turned back another way and came across Tom coming from Still Haven. We heard some one had been shot and I went at once to see who it was. That is all I know. I am as innocent as you. Max says they think it a mistake which I can explain and it will not go hard with me. There is no mistake. I cannot explain. God knows I didn’t do it, and you believe me, father.”
There was dumb entreaty in Paul’s face, and putting his arm around him the judge said, “My boy is innocent, and please God, we will prove him so.”
“Must you do this dirty work?” he added, in an aside to Max, who was again wiping the sweat from his face, this time with a handkerchief more soiled than his hands.
It was Paul who answered, “Yes, father, he must. Max isn’t to blame. He and I are good friends,—have played hide and coop together many a time,—haven’t we, Max?”
“Ye-es,” Max blubbered, “I wish I wasn’t so tarnal tender-hearted.”
“Never mind your heart. You must do your duty, so go ahead and do it in ship-shape style,—but omit the bracelets,” Paul said with a laugh. “Must I go to the lock-up?” he continued, shrinking from the dreary place, not often used, and at which when a boy he had often looked curiously, especially if there were a prisoner in it.
He was the prisoner now, and with some difficulty he rose to his feet, supported by Tom and his father, the latter of whom said to him, “Courage, my boy. Everything which can be done to save you shall be done and you will soon be free. I shall come and see you this evening. Don’t cry,—don’t,” he continued, as Paul broke down and sobbed like a little child. This was so different from anything he had expected. Over the hill to his right was his pleasant home, where his mother waited for him;—up the avenue to the left was Clarice, who would be expecting him that night,—and before him the terrible lock-up. He was in the carriage now, seated on the back seat with Max and trying to hide from the eyes of those who still lingered in the street to see the end. At these Tom swore lustily as he gathered up the reins and drove up the avenue, not rapidlyas he had driven to the Ralston House, but slowly, as if going to a burial.
As he crossed the causeway he met Miss Hansford, excited and angry. She had heard all the rumors and that it was thought Paul would be arrested on his return from Washington. Stationing herself on her upper balcony she watched the boat as it came in and waited anxiously for the return of the Ralston carriage. She knew it would first take Mrs. Percy and Clarice home and she allowed ample time for that; still it did not come. She could see the church with her far-seers and the people gathering there. Beside her on the floor was Elithe, her younger eyes taking in everything her aunt’s spectacles might fail to see.
“The carriage is there,” she said at last, and in a few minutes they saw it dashing across the causeway and over the hills towards the Ralston House.
In less time than they thought it possible for it to do so, it returned with the judge in it.
“What does it mean?” Elithe asked, but her aunt did not reply until she saw it start again, and this time towards the lock-up.
“It means they’ve took him and are carrying him to that pen,” she cried hurrying down stairs. Seizing her oldest and worst-looking sun-bonnet she ran down the path and across the causeway, until she met the carriage crossing it.
“Stop,” she said, throwing up her arms at the horses.
Tom stopped, glad of an excuse.
“What are you doing ridin’ in a carriage as if you was a gentleman?” she said to Max, who cowered as if afraid of bodily harm.
“Taking me for a little change of air,” Paul answered for him, trying to laugh, but failing dismally.
“Not to the lock-up! He shall not go there,” Miss Hansford continued.
“Them’s my orders,” Max said timidly.
“D—— the orders!” Tom muttered under his breath, while Paul rejoined, “I can stand it awhile. It can’t be for long. Drive on, Tom, let’s see what the accommodations are.”
They were worse than anyone of the party anticipated. One or two men arrested for incendiarism and a few tramps were all who had occupied the place for a long time. No one had been in it for months. Consequently but little attention had been paid to it and the room was close and damp.
“Smells enough to knock you down,” Miss Hansford said, holding her nose as she put her head inside the door, which had been unlocked by an official waiting for the party.
Hundreds of spiders’ webs filled with dead flies festooned the walls and the small barred windows. The floor was littered with sticks and shavings and stained with tobacco juice.
Miss Hansford held her skirts high as he stepped into the room, and taking up the pillow from the bunk pronounced it “hen’s feathers and bad ones at that.”
“Oh, father,” Paul said, “I can’t go in there. I should die before morning with the smells and the spiders and the rats. See that big one scurrying across the floor.”
Miss Hansford’s shriek would have called attention to it if Paul had not. The long, lank creature had run across her feet, and with the agility of a young girl she had leaped into the wooden chair to get out of its way.
“Take me to the jail at once. It is better than this,” Paul continued, and “Yes, to the jail,” was repeated by those who had gathered outside and were looking on withpity for the young man who had fallen so suddenly from a palace, as it were, to a prison.
The jail stood about a mile from the town, near the shore, and at some little distance from the road. It was a large frame building, old and dilapidated, but answering every purpose for the few occasions when it was called in requisition. The jailer and his wife occupied the front rooms, and those in the rear were reserved for prisoners when any were there. As it had once been a dwelling house the so-called cells were larger and pleasanter every way than are usually found in country jails. After some necessary preliminaries and orders Paul was taken there and the best and airiest room assigned him. It was very bare of furniture, but it was scrupulously clean, and a great improvement on the lock-up. But there were iron bars across the window and a heavy padlock on the door outside. It was a prison and Paul was a prisoner. Sitting down in the hard chair, and, leaning his head against his father, he began to realize what it would be when he was alone and they were all gone.
“Keep up, my boy, keep up,” his father kept saying. “We’ll soon have you out. I’ll come again to-night and bring your mother to-morrow, if she is able.”
Max was looking on and wishing he had never been elected constable, while Tom was quietly taking note of the bars at the window and the decayed condition of the casings.
“Good-bye, Paul, for a few hours,” the judge said, stooping down and kissing his boy, a thing he had not done in years.
Max was quite unstrung and kept stroking Paul’s arm as he said: “I’ll be darned if I hadn’t rather stay here myself than leave you. Yes, I would.”
Tom was silent, but he wrung Paul’s hand with a strength as if he were testing the iron bars. Then they went out and Paul heard his father speaking to the jailer and knew he was being commended to his care.
“Be kind to him, Stevens. Give him all the privileges you can,” the judge said, slipping a bill into the man’s hand.
“No need to tell me that,” Stevens replied. “I’ll treat him as I would my brother.”
Then the carriage drove away, and before bedtime the news spread through the city that Paul was in jail,—that his mother was going from one fainting fit into another, with three doctors in attendance,—that Clarice was in convulsions with two, Elithe in hysterics with one,—that Miss Hansford was crazy and Judge Ralston was to offer $10,000 for the capture of the man who killed Jack Percy.