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At first Jimmy thought they were the perpetrators of the deed, but almost immediately he recognized one of them as O’Donnell, the erstwhile traffic officer who had been promoted to a detective sergeancy since Jimmy had first met him.
“Compton has been murdered,” said Jimmy dully. “He is dead.”
“Put up your hands,” snapped O’Donnell for the second time, “and be quick about it!”
It was then for the first time that Jimmy realized the meaning that might be put upon his presence alone in the office with his dead employer. O’Donnell’s partner searched him, but found no weapon upon him.
“Where’s the gat?” he asked.
“Whoever did this probably took it with him,” said Jimmy. “Find the watchman.”
They made Jimmy sit down in a corner, and while one of them guarded him the other called up central, made his report, and asked for an ambulance and the wagon. Then O’Donnell commenced to examine the room. A moment later he found an automatic behind the door across the room from where Compton’s body lay.
“Ever see this before?” asked O’Donnell, holding the pistol up to Jimmy.
“If you’re asking me if it’s mine, no,” said Jimmy. “I have a gun, but it’s home. I never carry it. I didn’t do this, O’Donnell,” he continued. “There was no reason why I should do it, so instead of wasting your time on me while the murderer escapes you’d better get busy on some other theory, too. It won’t do any harm, anyway.”
The wagon came and took Jimmy to the station, and later he was questioned by the lieutenant in charge.
“You say this is not your pistol?” asked the police officer.
“It is not,” replied Jimmy.
“You never saw it before?”
“No, I have not.”
The lieutenant turned to one of his men, who went to the door, and, opening it, returned almost immediately with Bince.
“Do you know this man, Mr. Bince?” asked the lieutenant.
“I certainly do,” said Bince.
“Did you ever see this pistol before?”
Bince took the weapon and examined it.
“Yes,” he said.
“Under what circumstances?” asked the lieutenant.
“It was one of two that Mr. Compton had in his desk. This one he loaned to Torrance two or three weeks ago. I was in the office at the time.”
The officer turned toward Jimmy.
“Now do you recognize it?” he asked.
“I haven’t denied,” said Jimmy, “that Mr. Compton had loaned me a pistol. As a matter of fact, I had forgotten all about it. I do not particularly recognize this one as the weapon he loaned me, though it is of the same type. There is no way that I could identify the particular weapon he handed me.”
“But you admit he loaned you one?”
“Yes,” said Jimmy.
“What did you do with it?” asked the policeman.
“I put it in my desk within five minutes after he gave it to me, and I haven’t seen it since.”
“You say you couldn’t identify the pistol?” said the officer.
Jimmy nodded.
“Well, we can, and have. The number of this pistol was recorded when Mr. Compton bought it, as was the number of the other one which is still in his desk. They were the only two pistols he ever bought, according to Mr. Bince, and his daughter, aside from one which he had at home, which has also been accounted for. The drawer in which Mr. Bince saw you place this pistol we found open and the pistol gone. It looks pretty bad for you, young fellow, and if you want a chance to dodge the rope you’d better plead guilty and tell us why you did it.”
Jimmy was given little opportunity for sleep that night. A half-dozen times he was called back to the lieutenant’s office for further questioning. He commenced to realize that the circumstantial evidence was strongly against him, and now, as the girl had warned him, his entirely innocent past was brought up against him simply because his existence had been called to the attention of a policeman, and the same policeman an inscrutable Fate had ordained should discover him alone with a murdered man.
O’Donnell made the most of his meager knowledge of Jimmy. He told the lieutenant with embellishments of Jimmy’s association with such characters as the Lizard and Little Eva; but the police were still at a loss to discover a motive.
This, however, was furnished the next morning, when Elizabeth Compton, white and heavy-eyed, was brought to the station to identify Jimmy. There was deep compassion in the young man’s face as he was ushered into the presence of the stricken girl, while at sight of him hers mirrored horror, contempt, and hatred.
“You know this man?” asked the lieutenant.
“Yes,” she replied. “His name is Torrance. I have seen him a number of times in the past year. He worked as a clerk in a store, in the hosiery department, and waited on me there. Later I”—she hesitated—“I saw him in a place called Feinheimer’s. He was a waiter. Then he was a sparring partner, I think they call it, for a prizefighter. Some of my friends took me to a gymnasium to see the fighter training, and I recognized this man.
“I saw him again when he was driving a milk-wagon. He delivered milk at a friend’s house where I chanced to be. The last time I saw him was at my father’s home. He had obtained employment in my father’s plant as an efficiency expert. He seemed to exercise some strange power over father, who believed implicitly in him, until recently, when he evidently commenced to have doubts; for the night that the man was at our house I was sitting in the music-room when they passed through the hallway, and I heard father discharge him. But the fellow pleaded to be retained, and finally father promised to keep him for a while longer, as I recall it, at least until certain work was completed at the plant. This work was completed yesterday. That’s all I know. I do not know whether father discharged him again or not.”
Harriet Holden had accompanied her friend to the police station, and was sitting close beside her during the examination, her eyes almost constantly upon the face of the prisoner. She saw no fear there, only an expression of deep-seated sorrow for her friend.
The lieutenant was still asking questions when there came a knock at the door, which was immediately opened, revealing O’Donnell with a young woman, whom he brought inside.
“I guess we’re getting to the bottom of it,” announced the sergeant. “Look who I found workin’ over there as Compton’s stenographer.”
“Well, who is she?” demanded the lieutenant.
“A jane who used to hang out at Feinheimer’s. She has been runnin’ around with this bird. They tell me over there that Compton hired her on this fellow’s recommendation. Get hold of the Lizard now, and you’ll have the whole bunch.”
Thus did Sergeant Patrick O’Donnell solve the entire mystery with Sherlockian ease and despatch.
At Jimmy’s preliminary hearing he was held to the grand jury, and on the strength of the circumstantial evidence against him that body voted a true bill. Edith Hudson, against whom there was no evidence of any nature, was held as a witness for the State, and a net was thrown out for the Lizard which dragged in nearly every pickpocket in town except the man they sought.
Jimmy had been in jail for about a week when he received a visitor. A turnkey brought her to his cell. It was Harriet Holden. She greeted him seriously but pleasantly, and then she asked the turnkey if she might go inside.
“It’s against the rules, miss,” he said, “but I guess it will be all right.” He recalled that the sheriff had said that the girl’s father was a friend of his, and so assumed that it would be safe to relax the rules in her behalf. He had been too long an employee of the county not to know that rules are often elastic to the proper pressure.
“I have been wanting to talk to you,” said the girl to Jimmy, “ever since this terrible thing happened. Somehow I can not believe that you are guilty, and there must be some way in which you can prove your innocence.”
“I have been trying to think out how I might,” said Jimmy, “but the more I think about it the more damning the circumstantial evidence against me appears.”
“There must always be a motive for a crime like that,” said Harriet. “I cannot believe that a simple fear of his discharge would be sufficient motive for any man to kill his employer.”
“Not to kill a man who had been as good to me as Mr. Compton was,” said Jimmy, “or a man whom I admired so much as I did him. As a matter of fact, he was not going to discharge me, Miss Holden, and I had an opportunity there for a very successful future; but now that he is dead there is no one who could verify such a statement on my part.”
“Who could there be, then, who might wish to kill him, and what could the motive be?”
“I can only think,” said Jimmy, “of one man; and even in his case the idea is too horrible—too preposterous to be entertained.”
Harriet Holden looked up at him quickly, a sudden light in her eyes, and an expression of almost horrified incredulity upon her face. “You don’t mean—” she started.
“I wouldn’t even use his name in connection with the thought,” Jimmy interrupted; “but he is the only man of whom I know who could have profited by Mr. Compton’s death, and, on the other hand, whose entire future would have been blasted possibly had Mr. Compton lived until the following morning.”
The girl remained for half an hour longer, and when she left she went directly to the home of Elizabeth Compton.
“I told you, Elizabeth,” she said, “that I was going to see Mr. Torrance. You dissuaded me for some time, but I finally went today, and I am glad that I went. No one except yourself could have loved your father more than I, or have been more horrified or grieved at his death; but that is no reason why you should aid in the punishment of an innocent man, as I am confident that this man Torrance is, and I tell you Elizabeth if you were not prejudiced you would agree with me.
“I have talked with Torrance for over half an hour to-day, and since then nothing can ever make me believe that that man could commit a cold-blooded murder. Harold has always hated him—you admit that yourself—and now you are permitting him to prejudice you against the man purely on the strength of that dislike. I am going to help him. I’m going to do it, not only to obtain justice for him, but to assist in detecting and punishing the true murderer.”
“I don’t see, Harriet, how you can take any interest in such a creature,” said Elizabeth. “You know from the circumstances under which we saw him before father employed him what type of man he is, and it was further exemplified by the evidence of his relationship with that common woman of the streets.”
“He told me about her to-day,” replied Harriet. “He had only known her very casually, but she helped him once—loaned him some money when he needed it—-and when he found that she had been a stenographer and wanted to give up the life she had been leading and be straight again, he helped her.
“I asked Sergeant O’Donnell particularly about that, and even he had to admit that there was no evidence whatever to implicate the girl or show that the relations between her and Mr. Torrance had been anything that was not right; and you know yourself how anxious O’Donnell has been to dig up evidence of any kind derogatory to either of them.”
“How are you going to help him?” asked Elizabeth. “Take flowers and cake to him in jail?”
There was a sneer on her face and on her lips. “If he cares for flowers and cakes,” replied Harriet, “I probably shall; but I have another plan which will probably be more practical.”
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So it befell that the next day a well-known criminal attorney called on Jimmy Torrance at the county jail. “I understand,” he said to Jimmy, “that you have retained no attorney. I have been instructed by one of my clients to take your case.”
Jimmy looked at him in silence for a moment.
“Who is going to pay you?” he asked with a smile. “I understand attorneys expect to be paid.”
“That needn’t worry you!” replied the lawyer.
“You mean that your client is going to pay for my defense? What’s his name?”
“That I am not permitted to tell you,” replied the lawyer.
“Very well. Tell your client that I appreciate his kindness, but I cannot accept it.”
“Don’t be a fool,” said the attorney. “This client of mine can well afford the expense, and anyway, my instructions are to defend you whether you want me to or not, so I guess you can’t help yourself.”
Jimmy laughed with the lawyer. “All right,” he said. “The first thing I wish you’d do is to get Miss Hudson out of jail. There is doubtless some reason for suspicion attaching to me because I was found alone with Mr. Compton’s body, and the pistol with which he was shot was one that had been given to me and which I kept in my desk, but there is no earthly reason why she should be detained. She could have had absolutely nothing to do with it.”
“I will see what can be done,” replied the attorney, “although I had no instructions to defend her also.”
“I will make that one of the conditions under which I will accept your services,” said Jimmy.
The result was that within a few days Edith was released. From the moment that she left the jail she was aware that she was being shadowed.
“I suppose,” she thought, “that they expect to open up a fund of new clues through me,” but she was disturbed nevertheless, because she realized that it was going to make difficult a thing that she had been trying to find some means to accomplish ever since she had been arrested.
She went directly to her apartment and presently took down the telephone-receiver, and after calling a public phone in a building down-town, she listened intently while the operator was getting her connection, and before the connection was made she hung up the receiver with a smile, for she had distinctly heard the sound of a man’s breathing over the line, and she knew that in all probability O’Donnell had tapped in immediately on learning that she had been released from jail.
That evening she attended a local motion-picture theater which she often frequented. It was one of those small affairs, the width of a city block, with a narrow aisle running down either side and an emergency exit upon the alley at the far end of each aisle. The theater was darkened when she entered and, a quick glance apprizing her that no one followed her in immediately, she continued on down one of the side aisles and passed through the doorway into the alley.
Five minutes later she was in a telephone-booth in a drug-store two blocks away.
“Is this Feinheimer’s?” she asked after she had got her connection. “I want to talk to Carl.” She asked for Carl because she knew that this man who had been head-waiter at Feinheimer’s for years would know her voice.
“Is that you, Carl?” she asked as a man’s voice finally answered the telephone. “This is Little Eva.”
“Oh, hello!” said the man. “I thought you were over at the county jail.”
“I was released to-day,” she explained. “Well, listen, Carl; I’ve got to see the Lizard. I’ve simply got to see him to-night. I was being shadowed, but I got away from them. Do you know where he is?”
“I guess I could find him,” said Carl in a low voice. “You go out to Mother Kruger’s. I’ll tell him you’ll be there in about an hour.”
“I’ll be waiting in a taxi outside,” said the girl.
“Good,” said Carl. “If he isn’t there in an hour you can know that he was afraid to come. He’s layin’ pretty low.”
“All right,” said the girl, “I’ll be there. You tell him that he simply must come.” She hung up the receiver and then called a taxi. She gave a number on a side street about a half block away, where she knew it would be reasonably dark, and consequently less danger of detection.
Three-quarters of an hour later her taxi drew up beside Mother Kruger’s, but the girl did not alight. She had waited but a short time when another taxi swung in beside the road-house, turned around and backed up alongside hers. A man stepped out and peered through the glass of her machine. It was the Lizard.
Recognizing the girl he opened the door and took a seat beside her. “Well,” inquired the Lizard, “What’s on your mind?”
“Jimmy,” replied the girl.
“I thought so,” returned the Lizard. “It looks pretty bad for him, don’t it? I wish there was some way to help him.”
“He did not do it,” said the girl.
“It didn’t seem like him,” said the Lizard, “but I got it straight from a guy who knows that he done it all right.”
“Who?” asked Edith.
“Murray.”
“I thought he knew a lot about it,” said the girl. “That’s why I sent for you. You haven’t got any love for Murray, have you?”
“No,” replied the Lizard; “not so you could notice it.”
“I think Murray knows a lot about that job. If you want to help Jimmy I know where you can get the dope that will start something, anyway.”
“What is it?” asked the Lizard.
“This fellow Bince, who is assistant general manager for Compton, got a letter from Murray two or three weeks before Compton was killed. Murray enclosed a threat signed I.W.W., and his letter instructed Bince to show the threat to Compton. I haven’t got all the dope on it, but I’ve got a hunch that in some way it is connected with this job. Anyway, I’ve got both Murray’s letter and the threat he enclosed. They’re hidden in my desk at the plant. I can’t get them, of course; they wouldn’t let me in the place now, and Murray’s so strong with the police that I wouldn’t trust them, so I haven’t told any one. What I want is for you to go there to-night and get them.”
The Lizard was thinking fast. The girl knew nothing of his connection with the job. She did not know that he had entered Compton’s office and had been first to find his dead body; in fact, no one knew that. Even Murray did not know that the Lizard had succeeded in entering the plant, as the latter had told him that he was delayed, and that when he reached there a patrol and ambulance were already backed up in front of the building. He felt that he had enough knowledge, however, to make the conviction of Jimmy a very difficult proposition, but if he divulged the knowledge he had and explained how he came by it he could readily see that suspicion would be at once transferred from Jimmy to himself.
The Lizard therefore was in a quandary. Of course, if Murray’s connection was ever discovered the Lizard might then be drawn into it, but if he could keep Murray out the Lizard would be reasonably safe from suspicion, and now the girl had shown him how he might remove a damaging piece of evidence against Murray.
“You will get it, won’t you?” asked the girl.
“Where are these papers?” he asked.
“They are in the outer office which adjoins Mr. Compton’s. My desk stands at the right of the door as you enter from the main office. Remove the right-hand lower drawer and you will find the papers lying on the little wooden partition directly underneath the drawer.”
“All right,” said the Lizard; “I’ll get them.”
“Bless you, Lizard,” cried the girl. “I knew you would help. You and I are the only friends he has. If we went back on him he’d be sent up, for there’s lots of money being used against him. He might even be hanged. I know from what I have heard that the prosecuting attorney intends to ask for the death penalty.”
The Lizard made no reply as he started to leave the taxi.
“Take them to his attorney,” said the girl, and she gave him the name and address.
The Lizard grunted and entered his own cab. As he did so a man on a motorcycle drew up on the opposite side and peered through the window. The driver had started his motor as the newcomer approached. From her cab the girl saw the Lizard and the man on the motorcycle look into each other’s face for a moment, then she heard the Lizard’s quick admonition to his driver, “Beat it, bo!”
A sharp “Halt!” came from the man on the motorcycle, but the taxicab leaped forward, and, accelerating rapidly, turned to the left into the road toward the city. The girl had guessed at the first glance that the man on the motorcycle was a police officer. As the Lizard’s taxi raced away the officer circled quickly and started in pursuit. “No chance,” thought the girl. “He’ll get caught sure.” She could hear the staccato reports from the open exhaust of the motorcycle diminishing rapidly in the distance, indicating the speed of the pursued and the pursuer.
And then from the distance came a shot and then another and another. She leaned forward and spoke to her own driver. “Go on to Elmhurst,” she said, “and then come back to the city on the St. Charles Road.”
It was after two o’clock in the morning when the Lizard entered an apartment on Ashland Avenue which he had for several years used as a hiding-place when the police were hot upon his trail. The people from whom he rented the room were eminently respectable Jews who thought their occasional roomer what he represented himself to be, a special agent for one of the federal departments, a vocation which naturally explained the Lizard’s long absences and unusual hours.
Once within his room the Lizard sank into a chair and wiped the perspiration from his forehead, although it was by no means a warm night. He drew a folded paper from his inside pocket, which, when opened, revealed a small piece of wrapping paper within. They were Murray’s letter to Bince and the enclosure.
“Believe me,” muttered the Lizard, “that was the toughest job I ever pulled off and all I gets is two pieces of paper, but I don’t know but what they’re worth it.”
He sat for a long time looking at the papers in his hand, but he did not see them. He was thinking of other things: of prison walls that he had eluded so far through years of crime; of O’Donnell, whom he knew to be working on the Compton case and whose boast it had been that sooner or later he would get the Lizard; of what might naturally be expected were the papers in his hands to fall into the possession of Torrance’s attorney. It would mean that Murray would be immediately placed in jeopardy, and the Lizard knew Murray well enough to know that he would sacrifice his best friend to save himself, and the Lizard was by no means Murray’s best friend.
He realized that he knew more about the Compton murder case than any one else. He was of the opinion that he could clear it up if he were almost any one other than the Lizard, but with the record of his past life against him, would any one believe him? In order to prove his assertion it would be necessary to make admissions that might incriminate himself, and there would be Murray and the Compton millions against him; and as he pondered these things there ran always through his mind the words of the girl, “You and I are the only friends he has.”
“Hell,” ejaculated the Lizard as he rose from his chair and prepared for bed.
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Edith Hudson spent a restless night, and early in the morning, as early as she thought she could reach him, she called the office of Jimmy’s attorney. She told the lawyer that some new evidence was to have been brought in to him and asked if he had received it. Receiving a negative reply she asked that she be called the moment it was brought in.
All that day and the next she waited, scarcely leaving her room for fear that the call might come while she was away. The days ran into weeks and still there was no word from the Lizard.
Jimmy was brought to trial, and she saw him daily in the courtroom and as often as they would let her she would visit him in jail. On several occasions she met Harriet Holden, also visiting him, and she saw that the other young woman was as constant an attendant at court as she.
The State had established as unassailable a case as might be built on circumstantial evidence. Krovac had testified that Torrance had made threats against Compton in his presence, and there was no way in which Jimmy’s attorneys could refute the perjured statement. Jimmy himself had come to realize that his attorney was fighting now for his life, that the verdict of the jury was already a foregone conclusion and that the only thing left to fight for now was the question of the penalty.
Daily he saw in the court-room the faces of the three girls who had entered so strangely into his life. He noticed, with not a little sorrow and regret, that Elizabeth Compton and Harriet Holden always sat apart and that they no longer spoke. He saw the effect of the strain of the long trial on Edith Hudson. She looked wan and worried, and then finally she was not in court one day, and later, through Harriet Holden, he learned that she was confined to her room with a bad cold.
Jimmy’s sentiments toward the three women whose interests brought them daily to the court-room had undergone considerable change. The girl that he had put upon a pedestal to worship from afar, the girl to whom he had given an idealistic love, he saw now in another light. His reverence for her had died hard, but in the face of her arrogance, her vindictiveness and her petty snobbery it had finally succumbed, so that when he compared her with the girl who had been of the street the latter suffered in no way by the comparison.
Harriet Holden’s friendship and loyalty were a never-ending source of wonderment to him, but he accepted her own explanation, which, indeed, was fair enough, that her innate sense of justice had compelled her to give him her sympathy and assistance.
Just how far that assistance had gone Jimmy did not know, though of late he had come to suspect that his attorney was being retained by Harriet Holden’s father.
Bince appeared in the court-room only when necessity compelled his presence on the witness stand. The nature of the man’s testimony was such that, like Krovac’s, it was difficult of impeachment, although Jimmy was positive that Bince perjured himself, especially in a statement that he made of a conversation he had with Mr. Compton the morning of the murder, in which he swore that Compton stated that he intended to discharge Torrance that day.
The effect of the trial seemed to have made greater inroads upon Bince than upon Jimmy. The latter gave no indication of nervous depression or of worry, while Bince, on the other hand, was thin, pale and haggard. His hands and face continually moved and twitched as he sat in the courtroom or on the witness chair. Never for an instant was he at rest.
Elizabeth Compton had noticed this fact, too, and commented upon it one evening when Bince was at her home.
“What’s the matter with you, Harold?” she asked. “You look as though you are on the verge of nervous prostration.”
“I’ve had enough to make any man nervous,” retorted Bince irritably. “I can’t get over this terrible affair, and in addition I have had all the weight and responsibility of the business on my shoulders since, and the straightening out of your father’s estate, which, by the way, was in pretty bad shape.
“I wish, Elizabeth,” he went on, “that we might be married immediately. I have asked you so many times before, however, and you have always refused, that I suppose it is useless now. I believe that I would get over this nervous condition if you and I were settled down here together. I have no real home, as you know—the club is just a stopping place. I might as well be living at a hotel. If after the day’s work I could come home to a regular home it would do me a world of good, I know. We could be married quietly. There is every reason why we should, especially now that you are left all alone.”
“Just what do you mean by immediately?” she asked.
“To-morrow,” he replied.
For a long time she demurred, but finally she acceded to his wishes, for an early marriage, though she would not listen to the ceremony being performed the following day. They reached a compromise on Friday morning, a delay of only a few days, and Harold Bince breathed more freely thereafter than he had for a long time before.
Mr. and Mrs. Harold Bince entered the court-room late on Friday morning following the brief ceremony that had made them man and wife. It had been generally supposed that to-day the case would go to the jury as the evidence was all in, and the final arguments of the attorneys, which had started the preceding day, would be concluded during the morning session. It had been conceded that the judge’s charge would be brief and perfunctory, and there was even hope that the jury might return a verdict before the close of the afternoon session, but when Bince and his bride entered the court-room they found Torrance’s attorney making a motion for the admission of new evidence on the strength of the recent discovery of witnesses, the evidence of whom he claimed would materially alter the aspect of the case.
An hour was consumed in argument before the judge finally granted the motion. The first of the new witnesses called was an employee of the International Machine Company. After the usual preliminary questions the attorney for the defense asked him if he was employed in the plant on the afternoon of March 24. The reply was in the affirmative.
“Will you tell the jury, please, of any occurrence that you witnessed there that afternoon out of the ordinary?”
“I was working at my machine,” said the witness, “when Pete Krovac comes to me and asks me to hide behind a big drill-press and watch what the assistant general manager done when he comes through the shop again. So I hides there and I saw this man Bince come along and drop an envelope beside Krovac’s machine, and after he left I comes out as Krovac picks it up, and I seen him take some money out of it.”
“How much money?” asked the attorney.
“There was fifty dollars there. He counted it in front of me.”
“Did he say what it was for?”
“Yes, he said Bince gave it to him to croak this fellow”—nodding toward Jimmy.
“What fellow?” asked the attorney. “You mean Mr. Torrance, the defendant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what else? What happened after that?”
“Krovac said he’d split it with me if I’d go along and help him.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“The guy beat up Krovac and come near croaking me, and got away.”
“That is all,” said the attorney.
The prosecuting attorney, whose repeated objections to the testimony of the witness had been overruled, waived cross-examination.
Turning to the clerk, “Please call Stephen Murray,” said Jimmy’s attorney.
Murray, burly and swaggering, took the witness chair. The attorney handed him a letter. It was the letter that Murray had written Bince enclosing the supposed I.W.W. threat.
“Did you ever see that before?” he asked.
Murray took the letter and read it over several times. He was trying to see in it anything which could possibly prove damaging to him.
“Sure,” he said at last in a blustering tone of voice. “I wrote it. But what of it?”
“And this enclosure?” asked the attorney. He handed Murray the slip of soiled wrapping paper with the threat lettered upon it. “This was received with your letter.”
Murray hesitated before replying. “Oh,” he said, “that ain’t nothing. That was just a little joke.”
“You were seen in Feinheimer’s with Mr. Bince on March—Do you recall the object of this meeting?”
“Mr. Bince thought there was going to be a strike at his plant and he wanted me to fix it up for him,” replied Murray.
“You know the defendant, James Torrance?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t he knock you down once for insulting a girl?” Murray flushed, but was compelled to admit the truth of the allegation.
“You haven’t got much use for him, have you?” continued the attorney.
“No, I haven’t,” replied Murray.
“You called the defendant on the telephone a half or three-quarters of an hour before the police discovered Mr. Compton’s body, did you not?”
Murray started to deny that he had done so. Jimmy’s attorney stopped him. “Just a moment, Mr. Murray,” he said, “if you will stop a moment and give the matter careful thought I am sure you will recall that you telephoned Mr. Torrance at that time, and that you did it in the presence of a witness,” and the attorney pointed toward the back of the court-room. Murray looked in the direction that the other indicated and again he paled and his hand trembled where it rested on the arm of his chair, for seated in the back of the courtroom was the head-waiter from Feinheimer’s. “Now do you recall?” asked the attorney.
Murray was silent for a moment. Suddenly he half rose from his chair. “Yes I remember it,” he said. “They are all trying to double-cross me. I had nothing to do with killing Compton. That wasn’t in the deal at all. Ask that man there; he will tell you that I had nothing to do with killing Compton. He hired me and he knows,” and with shaking finger Murray pointed at Mr. Harold Bince where he sat with his wife beside the prosecuting attorney.
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For a moment there was tense silence in the court-room which was broken by the defense’s perfunctory “Take the witness” to the prosecuting attorney, but again cross-examination was waived.
“Call the next witness, please,” and a moment later the Lizard emerged from the witness-room.
“I wish you would tell the jury,” said the counsel for defense after the witness had been sworn, “just what you told me in my office yesterday afternoon.”
“Yes, sir,” said the Lizard. “You see, it was like this: Murray there sent for me and tells me that he’s got a job for me. He wants me to go and crack a safe at the International Machine Company’s plant. He said there was a fellow on the inside helping him, that there wouldn’t be any watchman there that night and that in the safe I was to crack was some books and papers that was to be destroyed, and on top of it was three or four thousand dollars in pay-roll money that I was to have as my pay for the job. Murray told me that the guy on the inside who wanted the job done had been working some kind of a pay-roll graft and he wanted the records destroyed, and he also wanted to get rid of the guy that was hep to what he had been doin’. All that I had to do with it was go and crack the safe and get the records, which I was to throw in the river, and keep the money for myself, but the frame-up on the other guy was to send him a phony message that would get him at the plant after I got through, and then notify the police so they could catch him there in the room with the cracked safe.
“I didn’t know who they were framin’ this job on. If I had I wouldn’t have had nothin’ to do with it.
“Well, I goes to the plant and finds a window in the basement open just as they tells me it will be, but when I gets on the first floor just before I go up-stairs to the office, which is on the second floor, I heard some one walking around up-stairs. I hid in the hallway while he came down. He stopped at the front door and lighted a cigarette and then he went on out, and I went up-stairs to finish the job.
“When I gets in Compton’s office where the safe is I flashes my light and the first thing I sees is Compton’s body on the floor beside his desk. That kind of stuff ain’t in my line, so I beats it out without crackin’ the safe. That’s all I know about it until I sees the papers, and then for a while I was afraid to say anything because this guy O’Donnell has it in for me, and I know enough about police methods to know that they could frame up a good case of murder against me. But after a while Miss Hudson finds me and puts it up to me straight that this guy Torrance hasn’t got no friends except me and her.
“Of course she didn’t know how much I knew, but I did, and it’s been worryin’ me ever since. I was waiting, though, hopin’ that something would turn up so that he would be acquitted, but I been watchin’ the papers close, and I seen yesterday that there wasn’t much chance, so here I am.”
“You say that a man came down from Mr. Compton’s office just before you went up? What time was that?”
“It was about ten o’clock, about half an hour before the cops finds Torrance there.”
“And then you went upstairs and found Mr. Compton dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You say this man that came downstairs stopped and lighted a cigarette before he left the building. Did you see his face?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”
“Sure.”
“Look around the court-room and see if you can find him here.”
“Sure I can find him. I seen him when I first came in, but I can’t see his face because he’s hiding behind the prosecuting attorney.”
All eyes were turned in the direction of the prosecuting attorney to see Bince leap suddenly to his feet and lean forward upon the desk before him, supported by a trembling arm as he shook his finger at the Lizard, and in high-pitched tones screamed, “It’s a lie! It’s a lie!”
For a moment longer he stood looking wildly about the room, and then with rapid strides he crossed it to an open window, and before any one could interfere he vaulted out, to fall four stories to the cement sidewalk below.
For several minutes pandemonium reigned in the court-room. Elizabeth Compton Bince swooned, and when she regained consciousness she found herself in the arms of Harriet Holden.
“Take me home, Harriet,” she asked; “take me away from this place. Take me to your home. I do not want to go back to mine yet.”
Half an hour later, in accordance with the judge’s charge to the jury, a verdict of “Not guilty” was rendered in the case of the People of Illinois versus James Torrance, Jr.
Mr. Holden and Jimmy’s attorney were the first to congratulate him, and the former insisted that he come home with him to dinner.
“I am sorry,” said Jimmy; “I should like to immensely, but there is some one I must see first. If I may I should like to come out later in the evening to thank you and Miss Holden.”
Jimmy searched about the court-room until he found the Lizard. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he said.
“Don’t then,” said the Lizard. “Who you ought to thank is that little girl who is sick in bed up on the north side.”
“That’s just where I am going now,” said Jimmy. “Is she very sick?”
“Pneumonia,” said the Lizard. “I telephoned her doctor just before I came over here, and I guess if you want to see her at all you’d better hurry.”
“It’s not that had, is it?” Jimmy said.
“I’m afraid it is,” said the Lizard.
Jimmy lost no time in reaching the street and calling a taxi. A nurse admitted him to the apartment. “How is she?” he asked.
The nurse shook her head.
“Can she see any one?”
“It won’t make any difference now,” said the nurse, and Jimmy was led into the room where the girl, wasted by fever and suffering, lay in a half-comatose condition upon her narrow bed. Jimmy crossed the room and laid his hand upon her forehead and at the touch she opened her eyes and looked up at him. He saw that she recognized him and was trying to say something, and he kneeled beside the bed so that his ear might be closer to her lips.
“Jimmy,” she whispered, “you are free? Tell me.”
He told her briefly of what had happened. “I am so happy,” she murmured. “Oh, Jimmy, I am so happy!”
He took one of her wasted hands in his own and carried it to his lips. “Not on the hand,” she said faintly. “Just once, on the lips, before I die.”
He gathered her in his arms and lifted her face to his. “Dear little girl,” he said, “you are not going to die. It is not as bad as that.”
She did not reply, but only clung to him tightly, and against his cheek he felt her tears and a little choking sob before she relaxed, and he laid her back again on her pillow. He thought she was dead then and he called the nurse, but she still breathed, though her eyes were closed. Jimmy sat down on the edge of the bed beside her and stroked her hand. After a while she roused again and opened her eyes.
“Jimmy,” she said, “will you stay with me until I go?” The man could make no articulate response, but he pressed her hand reassuringly. She was silent again for some time. Once more she whispered faintly, so faintly that he had to lean close to catch her words:
“Miss Holden,” she whispered, “she is a—good girl. It is—she—who hired—the attorney for you. Go to her—Jimmy—when I—am gone—she loves—you.” Again there was a long pause.
“Good-by—Jimmy,” she whispered at last.
The nurse was standing at the foot of the bed. She came and put her hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “It is too bad,” she said; “she was such a good girl.”
“Yes,” said Jimmy, “I think she was the best little girl I ever knew.”
It was after nine o’clock when Jimmy, depressed and sorrowing, arrived at the Holden home. The houseman who admitted him told him that Mr. Holden had been called out, but that Miss Holden was expecting him, and he ushered Jimmy to the big living-room, and to his consternation he saw that Elizabeth Compton was there with Harriet. The latter came forward to greet him, and to his surprise the other girl followed her.
“I discovered to-day, Mr. Torrance,” she said, “that I have wronged you. However unintentionally it was the fact remains that I might have done you a very great harm and injustice. I realize now how very different things might have been if I had listened to you and believed in you at first. Harriet told me that you were coming tonight and I asked to see you for just a moment to tell you this and also to ask you if you would continue with the International Machine Company.
“There is no one now whom I feel I would have so much confidence in as you. I wish you would come back and take charge for me. If you will tell me that you will consider it we will arrange the details later.”
If an archangel had suddenly condescended to honor him with an invitation to assist in the management of Heaven Jimmy could not have been more surprised. He realized at what cost of pride and self-esteem the offer must have been made and acknowledgment of error. He told her that he would be very glad to assist her for the present, at least, and then she excused herself on the plea of nervous exhaustion and went to her room.
“Do you know,” said Harriet, after Elizabeth had gone, “she really feels worse over her past attitude toward you than she does over Harold’s death? I think she realizes now what I have told her from the first, that she never really loved him. Of course, her pride has suffered terribly, but she will get over that quickly enough.
“But do you know I have not had an opportunity before to congratulate you? I wish that I might have been there to have heard the verdict, but really you don’t look half as happy as I should think you would feel.”
“I am happy about that,” said Jimmy, “but on top of my happiness came a sorrow. I just came from Edith’s apartment. She died while I was there.”
Harriet gave a little cry of shocked surprise. “Oh, Jimmy,” she cried, laying her hand upon his arm. “Oh, Jimmy, I am so sorry!” It was the first time that she had ever addressed him by his given name, but there seemed nothing strange or unusual in the occurrence.
“She was such a good little girl,” said Harriet.
It was strange that so many should use these same words in connection with Edith Hudson, and even this girl, so far removed from the sphere in which Little Eva had existed and who knew something of her past, could yet call her “good.”
It gave Jimmy a new insight into the sweetness and charity of Harriet Holden’s character. “Yes,” he said, “her soul and her heart were good and pure.”
“She believed so in you,” said the girl. “She thought you were the best man who ever lived. She told me that you were the only really good man she had ever known, and her confidence and belief in you were contagious. You will probably never know all that she did for you. It was really she that imbued my father and his attorney with a belief in your innocence, and it was she who influenced the Lizard to take the stand in your behalf. Yes, she was a very good friend.”
“And you have been a good friend,” said Jimmy. “In the face of the same circumstances that turned Miss Compton against me you believed in me. Your generosity made it possible for me to be defended by the best attorney in Chicago, but more than all that to me has been your friendship and the consciousness of your sympathy at a time when, above all things, I needed sympathy. And now, after all you have done for me I came to ask still more of you.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
She was standing very close to him, looking up in his face.
“You, Harriet,” he said.
She smiled tremulously. “I have been yours for a long time, Jimmy, but you didn’t know it.”